


Falling hard (I can see the ground coming)

by AlexKingOfTheDamned



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Relationships, Canon Related, Canon Trans Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Injury Recovery, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Post-Break Up, Regeneration, Self-Indulgent, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 43,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Self-indulgent drabbles involving every heart breaking stage of Ewan Lavellan healing after Solas leaves him bleeding</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written with my lovely partner mouthydwarf.tumblr.com as Uncle Varric
> 
> I don't expect an enormous amount of readers for this haha, everyone is always wrapped up in their own Lavellans, and that goes without saying! But I just wanted to post it because it's been a healing experience for both me AND my character to work through these emotions. 
> 
> That's what I get for going into the Solas romance for my first playthrough completely spoiler-free
> 
> I will include pictures of Ewan, probably in every chapter. I have over 300 screenshots...
> 
> Also, it doesn't make a huge difference, but Ewan is pronounced "Ay-wen"

 

If there’s one thing Varric is, it’s observant.

 

But recently, the Inquisitor has somehow slipped out of his range of sight. It’s been a week since last he’d seen him, and the word around the castle isn’t good. People talk as though Ewan is a different person. They speak of a shift in character, one which Varric cannot verify for himself as the man is hard to find. He’s normally gone off on missions, but he’s been here at the castle for the last few days and he’s seen hide nor hair of him.

 

Worse are the rumors that Ewan may be planning to take his own life. These, Varric cannot abide, so one day, as he’s doing nothing by the fire in the main hall, the dwarf sets out with a mind to look for the Inquisitor. He checks all the usual places. The library, his chambers, the courtyard and the forge, and returns to the courtyard to search again and ask around to see if anyone has spotted him all day. Of course it takes the height of a Qunari to point out that he’s standing on the battlements. Varric instantly thinks of the rumors and an uncharacteristic pang of worry shoots through him. He makes his way up to the battlements as quickly as is possible.

 

Varric walks with purpose toward Ewan, who is oblivious to his approach as he stands overlooking the land outside of Skyhold. The dwarf makes his demeanor casual as he approaches and comes to stand beside Ewan.

 

“You’re a hard man to find these days.”

 

Ewan had in fact heard his approach, but doesn’t turn to greet him. Varric’s voice is a soothing sound, but he doesn’t step down off of the crenelations, his hand casually rested on the merlon beside him. His throat feels tight, but despite everything, he’s yet to cry.

 

“The view is beautiful up here,” he says as he gazes out over the mountains and snowy valleys surrounding Skyhold, his voice is as cold as the biting air that blows up this high. The aching pain of the gale cuts his skin and makes his body match his heart in a way that seems only appropriate.

 

“You want to maybe come down from there? You’re making me nervous.” Varric says, laughter lightening his voice as he takes just a step closer. His brown eyes take in Ewan’s expression. It’s unreadable, but there’s an undercurrent of some pain beneath the practiced facade.

 

“No,” Ewan says, but the word comes out hollow, like he’s not committed to his own tongue. He sighs quietly and drops his chin to look at the drop below him. “Please, just go. I’m not good for people right now.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Varric says, his tone still casual. “Look, I don’t know what happened, but maybe it’s best if you’re not alone right now.”

 

Ewan feels an almighty pain in the center of his chest and he gives a quiet, strangled-off cry. His knees give out and he slides down the side of the merlon, leaning against it until he’s sitting on his thighs.

 

“I already feel alone,” his voice is barely audible over the sound of the wind with his back still turned to Varric. “I don’t know what to do.”

 

Varric watches his friend falling apart right in front of him and stops himself from moving any closer to him. “I can’t begin to imagine how you feel about all of this. It’s big stuff, leading an Inquisition. Anyone would feel alone doing what you’re doing.”

 

“That’s not what I mean, I--” his words come out harsh, like he’s reaching out to slap Varric across the face with them, but he cuts himself off and grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Nevermind. I don’t want to talk about it. Please leave me, Varric, I can’t... I’m bad _to_ people right now. You don’t deserve it.”

 

“You know I can take you being an asshole, right?” Varric asks nonchalantly, and he leans up against the wall. Inwardly he’s worried, but he doesn’t let it show immediately. Ewan likely doesn’t want someone coddling him right now.

 

Ewan is caught between desperately wanting somebody to talk to, and not wanting to actually burden any single person with his worries. He’s been shouldering the majority of this alone since the start, and this just feels like another layer of the shit he has to deal with as Inquisitor. It’s not anybody else’s business, and he has no right making it theirs. Everyone has to fight their own individual wars, and none of them deserve to have to fight part of his, too.

 

But his resolve crumples and his tears flow-- tears that have been held back for a week. He sobs hard and brutally, thrashing his throat. His tears are freezing on his cheeks, but he doesn’t wipe them away as he hunches down, trying to hide from Varric, trying to hide from everything. Really all it would take is one good pitch headfirst and he wouldn’t have to think any of this anymore, he wouldn’t have to feel any of it anymore. But he can’t just abandon the world like that. He has to at least defeat Corypheus for good and determine that the world is safe before taking a swan dive off a castle.

 

Varric watches Ewan cry for a space before he looks away, running his palm over his hair and tampering with his ponytail a moment to stall for time. He drops his hand back down to his side and looks out over the courtyard. If it isn’t the Inquisition getting to him, it must be something else, something more personal. He has no immediate family, that Varric knows about.

 

“What happened, Ewan? Whatever it is, you don’t need to go through it alone.”

 

Ewan turns around finally to face Varric, dropping his feet to the battlements, but he can’t gather the strength to stand up off the crenel. He faces him with his face shiny and cold and wet and unlined, faces Varric with his shame, with the reason he can’t stand mirrors anymore. His expression is tight and agonized, and he can’t meet Varric’s shocked stare for long before he covers his mouth and looks away, shaking from head to toe.

 

“Solas.”

 

Varric says the word with the tone one might use to deliver the news that someone has died. He knows that the elf is the only one with capabilities to remove facial tattoos. Dorian, possibly could, but Dorian wouldn’t have left Ewan heart broken. Varric recovers from his shock and returns to leaning against the merlon. He scrubs a hand down his face and crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“What were his reasons?” Now, his voice holds an edge of spite, frustration. He knows the bite of love, what comes after all of the happiness and closeness.

 

“Good _fucking_ question,” Ewan spits out and finally reaches up to wipe away the tears that have started to frost on his cheeks. “He was insufferably vague, and he refuses to talk to me about it now. He says it’s inappropriate, and all he will talk about is the final attack on Corypheus. I hate elves. I’m going to cut off my ears and start passing as human. Without the vallaslin nobody would question it.”

 

“Maybe he just needs some time,” Varric offers, though he doesn’t quite believe it himself. If he thought Ewan is serious about cutting off his ears, he’d mention it, but he knows the words are a product of the pain he is feeling. “Not that I’m defending him, mind you.”

 

“He said _never again,_ ” Ewan drops his head in his hands. “He said it would be better for both of us, but...” he gives a dry, painful sob. “Maybe he never even knew me in the first place if he thought this would be _better_ for me. I feel like I’m tearing apart. Why couldn’t he wait until after Corypheus was dead and the rift in the sky was closed to do this to me? Why can’t he see that this is one layer to the shitstorm that I didn’t need?”

 

He looks up at the sky, tears rolling fresh. “He made me feel so brave. He made me feel like I could do anything. I was invincible with his love because failure-- death-- it wasn’t an option, I had to get back to Solas, I had to return to his side at the end of everything, I was never even afraid to fail because I knew I would never let it happen. I had to return to him. But now... there’s nothing left for me, after this. If we succeed, I don’t have anywhere to go, I don’t have anyone, I’m alone--”

 

“It’s not easy to be alone,” Varric says, his voice far off now. There is a weight in his chest after listening to Ewan speak that doesn’t leave him. It drags him down into the depths of emotions he’d sooner never think about again.

 

“You aren’t alone though. Without a lover, yes, but you have friends here to come back to. People who care about you--most of all, Ewan, you have to learn to live for yourself, learn how to be happy alone. It’s not an easy thing to do, but,” a chuckle rolls through his words, “ _Nothing_ you do is easy.”

 

“I don’t _want_ to be alone,” Ewan’s voice is choked and painful in his mouth. “He made me so happy, untouchable, I wasn’t ever really afraid because I had him to protect. He was this barrier between me and the rest of the world. If I could protect Solas, everything else came easy. But now that he’s stepped out of the way, I can see the whole world, and I have to protect all of them, and I’m alone.”

 

Varric feels suddenly vulnerable, and he hates the feeling. He’d rather run than talk about such things, but that isn’t what’s good for Ewan. The dwarf takes a seat, his back still to the Merlon and he props his arm up on his knee and sighs.

 

“No one wants to be alone. The people who say they do are just liars. Solas is a liar. He’s afraid to get close, it’s easy to see really, the way he treats people. He’s afraid.”

 

“He called himself selfish, and I think he’s right,” Ewan scrubs at his tears. “I... wrote something. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to give it to him. I wrote it a few days after... after he left me alone in that garden. He brought me somewhere so beautiful and then just walked away and left me there. Walking home alone gave me a lot of time to think, and I... I want to give it to him, but I feel like it’s not good enough. You’re a writer, can you look at it?”

 

Any objection Varric has dies in his throat. He thinks it’s pointless to go chasing after Solas when he’s clearly stated he wants nothing to do with Ewan, but the dwarf nods all the same and offers out a hand to take the piece of parchment that it’s written on.

 

Ewan pulls it from his coat, almost hesitates to give it to Varric, before he hands it to him. He hangs his head in his hands as Varric unfolds the crumpled note and reads the slightly smudged ink. Smudged from tears, it looks like.

 

 _Bless this tiny alley_  
_We have fallen from tall buildings_  
_We have fallen through the air_

 _Into a garden sweetly smelling of the softest_  
_Sleeping flowers now they sit under the sidewalk_  
_Now they're waiting for the shining of some future sun to show us_

 _All that is your beauty_  
_Oh and all that brings you pleasure_  
_I could sigh into your hide_  
_And say I hope I'm here forever_

 _But Black Wolf Boy with your dreaming_  
_With your list of favorite pillows_  
_With your list of missing spirits_  
_With the wall where you drew windows_

 _Overlooking hidden gardens_  
_Cut apart by jagged mountains_  
_Climbing up into the air_  
_And crumbling down into a fountain_

 _Where the water waits forever_  
_Like a quiet distant treasure_  
_When you rise up to recover_  
_When you leave this tiny alley_

 _When you meet me in the garden_  
_With your horns all hung with cedar_

 _Every spirit brushing past me_  
_Brushing past us in the ether_

 _Scream all this is window dressing_  
_All you are is flimsy curtains_  
_Watch you flame up with a word from us_  
_And won't know that you're Burning_

 

Varric reads it a few times while Ewan waits for him to finish. It’s with a heavy sadness that his hand drops down into his lap, still clutching the length of paper tightly so it doesn’t fly away from the high breeze along the battlements. He lets out a shaking sigh and settles his head back against the merlon and looks up into the cloud filled sky, his breath chilling with the air around him.

 

“It’s beautifully written, a work of art. What good it’ll do giving it to Solas, I don’t know--but the written word can move hearts. Maybe it’ll achieve something.”Gingerly he hand it back to Ewan.

 

“What it will accomplish, provided he doesn’t throw it away upon receiving it, is he’ll be forced to listen to me,” Ewan says quietly, thankful that the tears have stopped for. He can already feel a headache rooting in between his eyes. “He won’t even talk to me now. I just want to talk to him. Some small, stupid part of me is holding out hope that when everything is over and he can’t say he’s distracting me from saving the world anymore, he’ll come back to me. I don’t think he will... but part of me is desperate it’s true, and I just want to know for sure... you know? He won’t _talk_ to me.”

 

“If you think it will help, then by all means give it to him.” Varric says, feeling a headache of his own coming on. He pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then drops his hand back onto his knee. “But don’t go holding out false hope. It’ll crush you, hard, when things don’t work out. Listen, I’m not trying to be pessimistic.” He turns his head to face Ewan and his brows furrow deeply, “I’m trying to be realistic.”

 

Ewan slips down from the crenel to sit on the battlement floor, and clutches his knees to his chest. He feels so incredibly small, and he leans down to press his eyes into his knees. The sobs return, but the tears don’t.

 

“I don’t think it’ll help the relationship but I think it will make me feel better to be heard. I just... I want him to be in as much pain as I am, and I... I think he is. I want to believe he is, but I want to _see_ it. I want to see his pain. I want to see him break down and cry like this-- does that make me a bad person?”

 

“Making someone cry for your sake isn’t on the list of great things to do.” Varric says, and he sees Ewan visibly wilt. “But, you’re in pain. It’s natural that you would want to see him hurt, after he’s hurt you.”

 

Ewan looks up at him for a moment, searching his face, before dropping it back into his knees. He can’t even feel the cold anymore. The sobs subside after a while, and he finally lifts his head up to lean back against the merlon. The warm pocket of his breath is quickly chilled by the freezing air.

 

“Do you know I’m only twenty?” he asks quietly after a moment. When Varric meets him with silence, he gives a bitter laugh and gazes out on Skyhold. “I only had my vallaslin for two years before Solas took it away. He told me they were slave markings, that my people-- all Dalish got it wrong, they mistranslated it hundreds of years ago. He offered to take them away, and I...” the tears are back.

 

“I said yes,” his voice cracks. “My clan is dead. They asked for my help from the darkspawn, and I sent Cullen’s soldiers to protect them, but they all died anyway. I should have sent Leliana’s people to sneak them away from the darkspawn instead-- I got my people killed. Everyone I knew, my family, my friends, they’re all dead because I chose wrong. I thought, the best way to honor them would be to let Solas take away the Vallaslin, so I could represent my clan as a clean canvas, untouched by this mistranslated garbage that I spent four hours getting tattooed into my _fucking face_.”

 

He covers his face with both hands, doubling over again. “But he walked away and left me there, less than two minutes after he took them, and I want them back, I want them back.”

 

Varric remains quiet for a long time, thinking on what Ewan has said. He aborbs his hurt in the quiet, tries to find the words to say to help him heal. After a while of sitting in the cold air and pointedly looking away from Ewan, he finally finds it in himself to glance at him once more.

 

“You can’t get it back. That’s the sad fate of it, but what you can do is keep living, keep doing what you’re doing. It’s how we honor those who’ve died, we keep living in spite of our pain and our loss.”

 

“Or I could throw myself from the battlements once this is all over so I don’t have to,” Ewan says bitterly. He props his elbows on his knees and lets them hang out straight. “How do you do it, Varric? How do you manage to keep going past all the pain?”

 

“What would that accomplish?” Varric asks, honestly outraged that Ewan would even suggest such a thing. “You’ve got two choices. Either you lay down and die or you get up and you stand your trials. Personally, I’d rather be alive and miserable than be dead. At least alive, I have a chance of being happy again. Killing yourself eliminates that chance, don’t you think?”

 

Ewan shrugs heavily. “Where can I even go from here? The only way I can go is down. You know when people say they peaked too soon? The only thing higher than Inquisitor is king, and I’m never going to be king of anything. The rest of my life can only go downhill from here. If this had happened to me when I was in my fifties or sixties it wouldn’t be as much of a problem because I would have had a long life behind me, but I’m barely even an adult and it already feels like my life is coming to an end.”

 

“All the more reason to make the most of it while you can. Someone wiser than me once said, ‘It’s not the length of life, but the depth.’ You can make a good life for yourself anywhere when this is all over--if it’s ever over. Some days it feels like it’s never going to end. You can be happy again . . . as long as you don’t go flinging yourself from the battlements.”

 

Ewan sighs and stares up at the clouds. “God, I need to get laid,” he whispers, halfway between joking and serious. “I wonder if Cullen would fuck me. He seems pretty strung out, too,” Ewan glances in the direction of Cullen’s office, but he doesn’t make any move to get up. “I can’t tell if I want to fuck someone because I want to fuck someone, or if I just want to do it to spite Solas-- and I don’t know if it makes a difference. Maker, I want to stop thinking about him. I could technically kick him out of the Inquisition. I could make him leave.”

 

“I would offer to soothe your desire, but I think it would be weird for both of us.” Varric laughs in spite of the circumstances. “Cullen’s awkward anyways. A good man, but awkward. Listen, if you really want to stop thinking about Solas, you have to do something with yourself. Take a walk, read a book, kill some demons. You’ve got to show him and _yourself_ that you can get past this.”

 

Ewan laughs, genuinely, at Varric’s offer. It feels nice to laugh. “Maybe you’re right,” he looks down at the paper in his hand and with a sigh, opens his fingers and lets the wind carry it away. “Fuck him, honestly, right? Maker’s balls. Just fuck him sideways with his own stupid paint brush.”

 

“That’s the spirit.” Varric says and claps Ewan on the back. “Let’s take a walk. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

 

“Something to show me? That sounds vaguely ominous and threatening. Let’s do it,” Ewan sighs and levers up to his feet.

 

“Nothing to worry about. She’s beautiful though. Short black hair, big green eyes. You’ll fall in love, I promise.”

 

“Are you setting me up on a date?” Ewan laughs, but he’s losing his nerve already. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

 

“When we came here, the first thing I did was explore the place to see what I was in for. There’s a crack in the south wall, I found a black cat there, of all places, with her kittens. You’d never believe me if I just told you, but she’s raising a Nug as well. It’s just heartbreak waiting to happen if you ask me.”

 

Ewan’s spirits instantly lift. “Kittens?” that’s all it takes, and he’s sold. He’s no less broken hearted. The pain from Solas hasn’t gone away. The fear of his own isolation hasn’t ended suddenly. The impending potential end of the world is no less severe or gravid.

 

But maybe he can set all that aside long enough to meet some kittens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the words are only very slightly edited lyrics from the song Another Radio Song, by Okkervil River
> 
> I think it fits very well for any Solas/Lavellan relationship, and anybody who ships them should hear that song


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter was written immediately after every major event in the Solas romance, just thought I should mention that
> 
> Also, the note mentioned in this chapter from "Aurore" is an actual note you can find in Skyhold, after the mission at the Winter Palace, if you go up to the bedrooms through the door on the other side of where Vivienne stays, which was previously blocked off by scaffolding before that mission. I thought it was a letter left to the Inquisitor because it's written to "Ewan" but as it turns out it's literally just a coincidence. 
> 
> But I thought it was such a crazy coincidence, I decided to make it part of my Lavellan's canon

 

Varric is still set on making preparations to go back to Kirkwall, but first he wants to talk to the Inquisitor, see him before he goes because he knows the man will be busy with affairs. Tonight is a night of celebration, surely he’ll be in the feast hall along with everyone else, feasting and making merry.

 

But when Varric arrives, dressed in his usual shirt (perhaps another button or two is undone to catch the eyes of some of the ladies) he doesn’t see hide nor hair of Ewan. He walks around for a while, just to be sure his keen eyes haven’t missed him somewhere in the crowd, but after more than half an hour of searching, he gives up and makes a beeline for Josephine.

 

“Hey Ruffles, you seen Ewan around? I’ve looked all around the hall and he’s not here. You’d think he would be, just for appearances at least, but no . . .”

 

“Who- what?” Josie looks up from her clipboard and glances around the room as if she’s looking up for the first time. She might actually be looking up for the first time. “Ewan? No, I haven’t spoken to him. I’ve been busy with all the preparations for tonight-- I haven’t seen him since the fall of Corypheus, actually. Well, I have seen him around, but we have not spoken. Are you certain he isn’t here? He’s known about this night for days now.”

 

“No yeah, I’m sure. I searched every corner in this place, must have looked for nearly an hour, he’s nowhere to be found,” Varric secretly worries that something might have happened to him, that he might have made good on his word to jump off the battlements. Hopefully he won’t have to go looking around the wall for his body.

 

“I have hardly had time to sit down myself, I have been making last-minute arrangements. Maybe I should have waited another week to prepare this, but the people of Skyhold were already getting so anxious for celebration, oh, I don’t know--” she trails off, zeroing in on her clipboard again and muttering to herself just enough to make Varric think she might start talking to him again, but the next time she looks up, she looks startled to see him still standing beside her. “Oh, was there something else you needed?”

 

“Nah, don’t forget to have a good time, huh?” Varric says, patting her chair as he walks away, leaving Josephine to her work. Knowing her, she won’t rest until she’s dead. The dwarf heads off and asks Dorian if he’s seen the Inquisitor, but he offers up no advice, neither does Bull, and Sera less so. He heads over to Cullen, who has no further information, but suggests Leliana, so Varric heads toward her.

 

“Hey Leli, you seen Ewan anywhere? He’s not here. Before you ask, I looked.”

 

“The Inquisitor,” Leliana says, and it’s not even a question. She turns immediately to look over her shoulder in the direction of the throne and the moonlit stained glass windows. She gestures to them with her head and begins to walk away before Varric can even meet her stride. She doesn’t speak again until they’re mostly alone by the throne, with only the company of the guards. “I do not imagine he is a in a celebrating mood tonight. The last time I saw him, he did not seem well.”

 

“Ah shit.” Varric’s expression falls and he shifts from one foot to the other, resting a hand on his hips. He gestures in the air, “Did he say anything to you?”

 

“No,” she shakes her head. “But... he did not need to. You may not have noticed-- few people did-- but as soon as the battle was over, Solas... vanished. I have had my best people tracking him, but he is gone. I have never known anybody to vanish so completely. When I told Ewan, he told me that Solas did not even say good bye. I do not know where Ewan is now, but I imagine he wants to be as far away from the festivities as he can manage.”

 

“Alright, I’m going to look for him.” Varric says, and he starts away. Before he goes, he turns back to her and offers a short thank you, then sprints off. The first place he thinks to look is the battlements, but he doesn’t find him up there--he even peeks over the edge, just in case, but it’s too far and too dark for him to see down to the ground, so with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he leaves.

 

The next place he thinks to look is in the stables. He may be nursing his anguish with the company of Shalen, but when he arrives he finds only the few stable hands unlucky enough to have duty on such a glorious evening. The last place he can think to check is Ewan’s quarters.

 

He takes the stairs slowly, thinking over what he’ll say when he sees him, and decides, before opening the door, that he’s just going to listen, if Ewan has any words to give him. When the door creaks open, he finds a low fire crackling lazily in the fireplace and evidence that someone has been reading a book nearby. The door to the balcony is open, so Varric takes a deep breath and, worrying, walks through the door.

 

Ewan is sitting on the cold stone floor of the balcony, as far towards the side as possible, impossible to see from the doorway. Varric almost doesn’t notice him at first, all bundled in black, leaning up against the stone railing going around the edge. He’s gazing out between the stone slats at the moon-drenched mountains, his ears and nose blazing red in the cold, his legs bent awkwardly beside him and his hands folded in his lap.

 

He’d heard Varric approach. The man has a particular gait, and besides that he knew nobody else would just walk into his room. He doesn’t lift his head to look though. He’s been sitting in this position for so long that he fears moving would hurt.

 

Varric buttons up his shirt and squares his shoulders to the could night air, his coat helps marginally to ward against it. He walks to Ewan’s side and rests a hand on the railing beside him and sighs. “So the prick left huh?”

 

Ewan’s face crumples for a moment, but only for a moment, before it falls back into its emotionless mask. He can’t even open his mouth to say anything. It feels like his jaw has cemented shut, like if he tried to speak, his jaw would crack and fall off. Even blinking hurts, and his heart beat feels like a fist in his chest. The only thing, he thinks, that has kept him from nose diving off his balcony has been this aching numbness from the wind and the fear that if he starts moving, he’ll just shatter apart like old porcelain.

 

“If he didn’t give you any explanation for his bullshit, then he’s a waste of your time.” Varric says pointedly, and he takes a seat right beside Ewan, his body heat radiating and allow some warmth to seep back into the Elf’s body. “But it’s not that easy to let go, I get it, just don’t do anything stupid, alright Freckles?”

 

“He didn’t say _anything_ ,” Ewan’s voice croaks out of him, broken and tired with tears he’s just too dehydrated to produce. “He didn’t even come back to Skyhold with us. I thought... I thought he did. I was so distracted. If I hadn’t walked away so quickly with everyone, maybe I could have seen where he went. He... told me ‘what we had was real’ and then I never saw him again.”

 

His eyes burn, but the tears don’t come. He squeezes them shut and drops his chin, sobbing tearlessly. Everything hurts, every part of him aches and burns and creaks like a dead tree. “I was so stupid,” he wheezes. The trembling has started up again. He stopped shivering ages ago. “I was so stupid, I wish I never even spoke to him, I should never have gotten invested, I regret everything.”

 

“We’re all stupid when we’re in love.” Varric says, a hint of laughter in his voice. The Dwarf looks over the mountains and gives a sigh as he remembers the pain that Ewan is going through. “Whoever said that it’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all was either extremely idealistic, or had never truly been in love, because after, when you lose them, it’s hell.”

 

“I want to go home,” Ewan sobs, his voice barely audible. “I just want to go home, to be with my family and the people I grew up with, but I can’t, I can’t even go back, because they’re dead, I let them die. Everybody expects me to be downstairs celebrating but nothing I’ve done feels worthy of celebration, nothing feels okay, I don’t want to celebrate I want to crawl into a ditch and die.”

 

“Those people down there look up to you for guidance, I’m sure they miss you right now, but I’m not here to guilt you into doing something you don’t want to do. Honestly when I didn’t find you at the party, I asssumed the worst. Ewan, promise me you won’t kill yourself. You can’t just let go because of him . . . living to spite him is more satisfying, don’t you think?”

 

“I don’t know,” Ewan wheezes. “I don’t know. Maybe I just don’t deserve love. Maybe it wasn’t part of my destiny. I didn’t tell anyone when it happened, I didn’t feel very close to anyone, but my-- in my clan, there was this girl, Aurore. She was my lover for more than a year, we were so close, she protested when I was chosen to go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and promised me she would always wait for me, but as soon as word of my survival spread, she sent a letter... saying she met someone else and she was leaving me. She said, _she is dark where you are fair_ , and _she fills her life with poetry, not battle_. I’m just... I’m not supposed to find love, I think. I’m supposed to be a lonely martyr for the rest of my life.”

 

“You’re letting your pain speak for you. It’s normal to feel this way. After all you and Solas went through, to be pushed aside and left to the wolves like you were, it’s okay to feel like you’ll never fall in love again; but don’t let it rule you, don’t let it paint everything you do, or this case don’t do.”

 

As if he has a lot of room to talk. Varric has been pining after the same woman for years. He even named his crossbow after her. It’s hypocritical to preach, but Ewan’s young, he has a chance.

 

Ewan scoffs bitterly, wiping at his face with frozen leather gloves. “Maybe I’ll have better luck with love if I give up on this being a man thing. Men are stupid, anyway. _Fuck_ men.”

 

“Yeah, we can be pretty dumb.” Varric says, laughter making his voice airy and soft. “But I don’t think you’d be better off giving up on your dream. You’d never be happy--you are a man.”

 

Ewan sighs. “I know,” he whispers, resigned, as he rests his forehead against the freezing stone fence. The tearless sobs come back again after a moment of silence, and his face crumples once more into creased agony. “I loved him. Fuck me, I loved him.”

 

Varric hums thoughtfully, and lays his head back against the railing. The wind kicks up and blows his hair about, strands of it clinging around his forehead where it’s too fine to stay back. “You’re going to love him for a long time, that’s what hurts the most, but you’ll be okay eventually. It’s going to take time.”

 

“If I ever see him again I’m going to wring his fucking neck, I swear,” Ewan grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He lost something really good when he left us, didn’t he?”

 

“He left friends, people who cared about him--he left the cause, of course he left something good behind. Most of all, though, he left you, and I’ve seen fewer things as good as you, Hero,” Varric closes his eyes as he leans against the railing.

 

The tears finally come, the real tears, and they cut paths of fire down Ewan’s frozen cheeks. His chest hurts and his throat is wrecked as he sobs, agonized cries tearing through the frozen air and curling away on the wind like smoke. He doesn’t feel good, he doesn’t feel like anything right now, except cold. He feels cold and hollow, like Solas took everything inside of his body when he left, and left him with only a shell full of air, threatening to collapse in on itself with every breath.

 

He cries until he can’t draw breath enough to carry on, but even then he continues to shake and rock gently, his body is warming up with his agony and it’s starting to hurt. His joints are aching and his limbs are filled with pins and needles. Even breathing hurts, now.

 

“Can you-- help me to the fire--” he chokes, coughing on his own half-frozen saliva.

 

“I thought you’d never ask. It’s cold as balls out here.” Varric says, trying to keep his tone lighthearted, the last thing Ewan needs is someone clucking over him. The Dwarf stands up and helps Ewan to his feet, and once he’s sure he’s steady (shaking but steady) he takes his hand and starts off with him toward the door.

 

They enter the room, which even with the door open is warmer than outside where the elements of the mountain assault the senses. Varric helps him into a chair beside the fire, and returns to close the door. Forgoing the other seat, he sits down in front of the fireplace and throws another log onto the fire, stirring the embers up so that a flame appears amidst the coals and licks at the log.

 

Ewan reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the chair and wraps it around his shoulders. Now that he’s started to thaw, the shivers have really hit him. He’s probably going to get deathly sick-- serves him right, for sitting out in the cold. His nose and ears have gone cherry red and the coughing has already started as a tickle in the back of his throat. Part of him wishes he’d just stayed out there until he froze to death, but another part of him is very, very glad Varric came to see him.

 

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave,” he admits softly. “Nobody gives the best-worst advice like you do.”

 

Varric laughs at that, a warm sound that fills up the room and mingles with the crackling of the fire. After he pokes and prods at the embers, using the bellows to really get the flames roaring, he turns his back to the fire to warm it and faces Ewan, his legs crossed under him. “You could come with me to Kirkwall. The people are safe now, but I’d understand if you felt you still had a duty to them--in a way you do. It’s just an offer.”

 

Ewan drops his head back against the chair in thought, and looks up at his gilded ceiling. It’s a possibility. He could come with Varric back to Kirkwall and help the people there. He might get to learn a little bit more about Hawke, too, if he comes back to visit Varric. It seems likely, anyway.

 

But it just feels like a dizzy daydream. As much as he would love to stay by Varric’s side, he knows it’s not the right thing to do. As much as he would love to leave behind the Inquisition, where there’s a very distinct hole left in the shape of a man that will always haunt him as long as he’s in Skyhold, he knows. He knows he can’t leave.

 

“I guess the fact that I’m indecisive about it at all proves that I ought not to go,” he sighs, glancing back down at Varric. “I want to, but I know... I know I can’t.”

 

“It’s a nice daydream, but it wouldn’t honestly work. You owe it to these people to see them through to the very end. Corypheus might be dead, I hope, but this isn’t over. People will need to be able to return safely to their homes, nobles will still need to be schmoozed. There’s still a lot to be done. To be honest, I almost feel bad for leaving myself . . .”

 

Varric takes his pipe out of his coat and starts to pack it full of leaves, and while he does he thinks. If he stayed here, he could still do good, he could still turn his life around, and he’d still be beside his friends, though he would miss Hawke. “I could stay here you know? What’s there to miss in Kirkwall anyway?”

 

“Don’t give up on your morals for me,” Ewan unfolds a leg to nudge Varric in the side of the head with the toe of his boot. “I’m proud of you for going back to Kirkwall. It proves the kind of man you are. Don’t give that up just because I’m complaining. I bet Dorian gives just as bad advice as you do. I’ll be fine.”

 

“Maybe bad fashion advice.” Varric says jokingly, making a jibe at Dorian’s honestly impeccable choice of clothing. “Moving on with your life after a break up isn’t the worst advice you could find. It’s certainly better than jumping off a cliff, but that’s my personal opinion.”

 

Ewan sighs out a tired laugh as the feeling really starts to return to his fingers and toes. He glances over at the stairs with a heavier sigh. “I really should join everyone, shouldn’t I? They’re probably all expecting me. Do you think I’ll cast a bad shadow over myself and the rest of the Inquisition if I get shitfaced?”

 

Varric thinks twice about lighting his pipe, maybe they will leave this room tonight. “I think that’s what everyone is expecting you to do. Celebrate, be merry. You’ve got a lot to be happy about, despite Chuckles acting a maggot and abandoning you. You killed an eternal blightspawn wizard. That deserves _some_ kind of praise.”

 

“Praise in the form of endless drink, until I pass out, throw up, or pop. That sounds like a plan, but... maybe not just yet. Can we just sit here for a little while longer?” Ewan hears the laughter downstairs and it puts a bitter taste in his mouth. Tonight he should be celebrating with Solas. Seeing if he can get him drunk, if he can get those ears to turn pink, making love with him for the first time, finally. Anything. He needs to stop thinking about Solas.

 

“I don’t see why not,” Varric replies, and he finally lights his pipe with a bit of twig from the pile of logs, which he dips into the fire to set it alight. He sucks on the end of the pipe, creating dark smoke that curls up from the bowl. After inhaling, he blows thick smoke rings away from Ewan, toward the stain glass windows. “We can talk about something else for a while, get your mind off of Chuckles.”

 

“No, I... tell me what you would do, if you saw him again,” Ewan says quietly. “Bull already said he’d squeeze his neck until his head popped off and landed in Tevinter. Dorian said he’d bind his spirit to a latrine for all eternity, and Sera said she’d make sure he sat on a dagger ‘facing the wrong way up’ and I know none of it is really true, but...”

 

“Honestly, I might shoot him in the balls with Bianca,” Varric says, laughing at the others’ varying displays of affection and support for their leader. “Make him second guess ever fucking around with someone’s heart again . . . I might do worse, if I wasn’t trying to be a better person.”

 

“ _Fuck_ being a better person,” Ewan sighs. “God, I turned into such an ass at the end there, I’m... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken out my pain on everyone else. The whole world didn’t deserve my anger or resentment.”

 

“It’s all done with now, but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you.” Varric puffs on his pipe again Smoke curls out of his nose and the corners of his mouth in dark tendrils. “I’m sure everyone understood, but if you wanted to make a formal apology, I doubt they’d turn it down.”

 

Ewan knows he will. He knows he has to. He has to make things right. He snapped at Sera and denied Cassandra a simple request, he insulted Dorian and nearly made Cole cry. He probably deserves to be sad and alone for how he treated everyone when Solas left. He’ll apologize, he always does. But for now, he’s content to just sit in comfortable silence with Varric until he can work up the nerve to face everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS TRESSPASSER SPOILERS!!! 
> 
> If you don't want to be spoiled for Tresspasser, turn back now!!!!

 

Ewan thought he was prepared for anything. It had been two years. He’d made his peace with his shattered past with Solas. His wider circle of friends eventually learned to stop bringing him up. Most of them were as uncomfortable with the way he crumpled every time as he was. Few still had the courage to even begin to breach the doorway to that past with him; only his closest friends knew how to mention the elf’s name in just the right way to prevent crippling the Inquisitor.

 

But the possibility of actually seeing him again, in person, after two years. Ewan has never been so simultaneously nervous and excited at once. He feels like he’ll be sick-- and he might be, there’s still time. As he stands in front of the last Eluvian, he can see the wavy, warped shapes of dozens of Qunari in fighting stance. It’ll be one hell of a fight, but everything he’s faced up until this point with Varric, Dorian and Bull at his side has been.

 

“He’s right past here,” his voice betrays him with a tremble as he turns to address his best friends. He swallows hard, his hand sparking and flaring up, and he clenches his fingers tightly before shaking his hand out. “It’s going to be brutal, but we have to save him. We _have to_ save him.”

 

Varric has his own set of frustrations regarding whether or not they owe it to the traitorous elf to “save” him. A huge part of him wants to refuse to walk through that mirror, but he knows how much this means to Ewan, and he can’t abandon his friend, regardless of his personal feelings.

 

With Bianca shouldered he shifts and nods to the Eluvian, “We’re right behind you.”

 

“We have to bring him in. Whatever it takes,” Ewan continues. “Knock him out, tie him up, it doesn’t matter. We need to take him into our custody to get answers. We’ll get him together. We’re the dream team, aren’t we?”

 

Nobody says what they’re all thinking-- that the very elf they’re pursuing always was part of Ewan’s team. Varric wasn’t usually involved in the field. The strain has been felt between Dorian and Bull against Varric taking the place that had always been reserved for the traitor behind the mirror. They don’t verbalize this, Ewan doesn’t deserve it.

 

Ewan turns to face the mirror, and takes a deep breath. Hands raised, he steps through the glass, it sparks and glitters blue and violet as he makes his way through. Dorian takes a single step forward to follow, Bull doesn’t even have time to shift his feet, and Varric hardly blinked before the glass fogged over a dull, dead red.

 

“ _That_ wasn’t supposed to happen.”

 

Varric looks up and exchanges looks with Bull, they both speak with their eyes what their mouths have difficulty saying. Ewan is as good as dead. There is no way he can survive an army of Qunari by himself. If they don’t get the Eluvian working, there is no hope. The dwarf turns to see Dorian approaching the mirror, attempting to figure out how to make it function again.

 

With Bianca holstered, Varric comes to Dorian’s side to observe his work. There’s nothing he can do to help--he doesn’t know the first thing about magic. He feels like he could scream. Ewan is in danger, and all he can do is stand around praying to anyone who will listen that Dorian can get this damned mirror working again.

 

“What’s wrong with it?” Varric asks, more panic leaking into his voice than he would have liked.

 

“I don’t _know_ , it just locked up,” Dorian’s voice goes tight and clipped with misdirected anger and fear. “Ewan said that these things are unlocked with a key, but without that-- I have no idea what it could be. The mark? It closed as soon as he walked through-- but that doesn’t explain how the others made it through before we got here. I’m just one mage, that doesn’t mean I know how to fix everything!”

 

Bull gives a roar of rage and smashes his axe into a broken pillar, scattering rocks everywhere, turning fear into fury as usual. “You’re not just one mage, you’re the only mage we’ve got right now!”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Dorian shouts to Bull, his voice cracking at the end. “It isn’t _my_ fault the mirror stopped working but you’ll be perfectly content blaming Ewan’s death on me if I can’t work a miracle and get it working again, won’t you?!”

 

“Hey man, it’s not Dorian’s fault, okay? Let’s just . . . get our heads on straight. You said it needs a key, maybe if we look around we’ll find something.” Varric offers the words in an attempt to soothe both parties, though he can’t blame either of them for falling apart. If he stops to think for even a moment about how he’s feeling, he’s likely to cave in and start shouting at them both himself.

 

“Don’t _hey man_ me, the Inquisitor is in there alone against the entire Qunari calvary and you’re acting like nothing is wrong!” Bull barks furiously. His instinct is to break the mirror in his rage, break the object his anger is focused on, but they’ll never be able to repair it and get to him if he does that, which leaves his anger without outlet-- save for Varric, now, apparently.

 

“I’m trying to keep it together--smashing shit isn’t exactly productive.” Varric spits, some of his bile coming out his the sharp edge that his voice takes on. He should be scared of Bull. The Qunari could pulverize him in a matter of seconds, but that doesn’t stop him from unleashing some of his rage on him. “Ewan wouldn’t want us fighting with each other!”

 

“Ewan is _dead!”_ Bull shouts back, closing in on Varric with a single step.

 

“We don’t know that yet!” Dorian steps protectively in front of Varric and shoves Bull back with both hands. “He has that assassin’s cloud, he knows how to turn himself invisible, he could be fine as long as we get this mirror working!”

 

“I don’t see you doing anything about it,” Bull growls at Dorian, bearing the weight of his chest forward against his hands until he’s forced to take a step back.

 

“That’s because _you_ started acting like a petulant child!” Varric spits, taking a step back and nearly running into the mirror. He glares around Dorian at Bull. The mercenary leader isn’t known for his emotional stability, so this really shouldn’t surprise him.

 

Varric pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “If we want to get through, we need to figure out how to get this thing working again. We can’t do that if you keep screaming at everybody.”

 

The arguing doesn’t stop. It continues to fluctuate, escalating anywhere from cross words to full-out shouting. All three of them step in to protect another one from someone else at one point, which only adds to the tension and the feelings of betrayal and the general lack of camaraderie between Bull and Dorian and the dwarf.

 

Minutes pass. The more time that ticks by, the more sure each of them are of Ewan’s death. Nobody can bring themselves to talk about what to do if the mirror never unlocks-- how long they should wait before turning around and going back to the Winter Palace with the news of the Inquisitor’s death.

 

Dorian crumples against the mirror with a sob of anger, pounding a fist against the glass. Bull shouts for him to stop or he might break it-- grabs him by the shoulder, by the collar, lifts him off the ground. Dorian grabs his wrist and reaches out to backhand him, Varric is shouting for Bull to put him down--

 

When the mirror blinks back to life.

 

All three men freeze. Dorian’s feet clear off the ground, dangling several inches in the air, head turned towards the mirror. The second his boots hit the ground all three of them bolt for the mirror in a rush to get though before it dies again.

 

The vision before them is grisly. All the Qunari they’d seen before are frozen in place, turned to solid stone, stiff with expressions of fear and pain etched into statues forever. Weapons litter the broken rocky ground, and ahead of them by several meters, Ewan sits crouched in a wide, dark and shallow pond. Solas is nowhere to be seen, a blood red mirror lays beyond Ewan where he is crumpled with his legs folded on either side of him, head bowed, white coat spread out around him like the shed wings of a fallen angel.

 

The three of them break into a run with Bull at the lead, simply because he’s got the longest legs. Varric’s veins run cold when he realizes that there is blood in the water, and he immediately begins to look for wounds on Ewan--as he draws closer, it’s plain to see where the blood is coming from.

 

Clutching the stump of his left arm, the Inquisitor sobs quietly into his own chest. Varric pushes past Dorian and Bull, who had frozen on the banks of the pond, and he kneels beside Ewan. He assesses the wound and calls out to Dorian, whose flame magic may very well be able to save Ewan from bleeding out. Varric’s immediate assumption, as he watches Dorian cauterize the wound, is that this was Solas’ doing. By the way Bull is venting about it loudly, it’s safe to assume that he’s feeling the same way.

 

Ewan doesn’t want to be touched at first. It takes both Dorian and Varric to soothe him enough so that Dorian can work. Bull is of no help, he simply roars and swings his axe through every Qunari statue, reducing them to rubble, angry that they had wasted their time when they might have been able to prevent this from happening.

 

They help Ewan out of the pool and settle him against a stone outcropping. What few medical supplies they have in their packs they use to get his arm wrapped up. They offer him a healing potion to sooth the pain and return his strength, but Ewan refuses it at first. With a little convincing from Varric, he takes it.

 

After a while of shifting their feet, the three of them gather around Ewan, and Varric is the first to ask, “What happened?”

 

“Solas-- Solas--” Ewan sobs, gasping for air that just won’t come. His lungs feel closed off, the sight of his arm lying limp in the pond a yard away, fingers curled up and mark dying down beside a bloodied axe blade has him nauseous. He drops his head back against the stone behind him and moans in profound pain and sadness. The sound escalates into a raw, agonized scream, echoing through the broken valley, bouncing off of cliff faces and crashing back into itself. Ewan screams until he can’t find breath anymore, and it breaks off into painful, dry sobs again.

 

“I can’t believe I ever trusted him!” Bull roars, smashing the statue of the Viddasala with his axe.

 

“He tricked all of us, Bull,” Dorian sighs, tiredly, his chest aching as he watches his lover fall apart.

 

“Yeah but I’m supposed to be able to tell when people are lying! I’m supposed to notice this crap! I was trained for it, I should have known!” Bull roars while Ewan presses his face against Varric’s shoulder and tries to calm down his breathing. “I should have stopped him years ago! I could have kept him from cutting off your fucking hand!”

 

Ewan whimpers weakly, shaking from wet and cold and bloodloss as he tries to melt into Varric’s comforting presence. He doesn’t want to hear any of this right now, he can’t take the what-if’s.

 

Varric holds Ewan shamelessly, runs his fingers through his hair and tries to tell him with all of his being that everything is going to be okay, even though he’s certain right now that nothing is okay. Watching his friend fall apart has the dwarf close to tears, but he holds them back for Ewan’s sake. He needs strength right now, and Varric will be strong for both of them if he has to be.

 

“All that matters right now is getting Ewan somewhere safe. We have to make it back to the Winter Palace and get him some proper medical aid.” Varric throws the words over his shoulder, but he’s certain they’re lost on Bull and Dorian’s bickering.

 

“Amatus,” Dorian says quietly. All the fight and fire has gone out of him, now. He touches the back of Bull’s shoulder, half expecting the anger-crazed Qunari to whip around and strike him for the touch, but instead Bull’s shoulders sag and his head drops. Dorian walks around him and takes his face in both hands, stepping up on tip toes to gently kiss unresponsive lips. “Please. Help us move him.”

 

They gently maneuver Ewan’s tired, half-limp body so they can pull his long coat off. It leaves him in nothing but his thin silk pants and undershirt, but thankfully it isn’t too cold in this realm. With the coat spread out, they lay Ewan down, who is still shaking and slowly slipping into a state of shock as Bull takes the back end of the coat and Dorian and Varric share the front as they carry their wounded friend out in the sling.

 

Ewan loses consciousness part of the way back. There is a moment’s blind panic where they think he’s died in their collective arms, but a moment later it’s determined that he’s just passed out, and they double time it back to the Winter Palace. Josephine greets them with a shriek, and all the medical staff in the palace rush to aid the wounded Inquisitor as Varric, Bull and Dorian relate everything they know about the Qunari, about Solas, and what they were planning to do.

 

The news is all anyone can talk about around the palace for days. Ewan’s condition doesn’t worsen, but it’s no better in the days that come, and that leaves his inner circle of friends worried with short fuses. Varric distances himself from them while they all wait out to see if Ewan will improve. He cannot face Bull or Dorian, the letters he receives from Kirkwall go unanswered.

 

One day he hears word that Ewan is up and talking. Varric doesn’t entirely believe it, but his feet still carry him to the infirmary. He enters to find Ewan in bed, sitting up and looking more aware than the last time he’d seen him, which had been half dead and nearly bled out. Varric wonders if the others have been in to see him or if he is the first.

 

“You look better.” Varric says, coming to his bedside after a fussing chirurgen leaves them. “You know, for missing an arm.”

 

Ewan looks down at the stump of his elbow. He hadn’t really paid attention to where the axe cleaved his arm, he’d been a little preoccupied at the time, but looking at it in the days afterwards, it’s somehow comforting to him that he still has an elbow, even if the majority of his forearm is missing.

 

He sighs, and leans sideways against the wall beside his cot. His usually immaculately styled hair is a mess, his eyes are sunken in and his skin is dry and sallow from malnutrition and dehydration. He licks his dry lips and glances over to Varric, but even looking at friends now causes him pain.

 

“Solas has gone mad,” he says after a breath. His voice is tired and sore. “He means to destroy the world.”

 

Varric very carefully takes a seat on the edge of the bed and looks pointedly away from Ewan. The Inquisitor's sentences were short, but even so, it feels like too much information too quickly. He absorbs his words with a sigh and scrubs his face with the palm of his hand. “Great. We just can’t catch a break with this shit. What’s chuckles’ big plan?”

 

“He’s going to tear down the Veil,” Ewan says, the words fall of out of his mouth like lead pellets, heavy and painful. As he speaks, his voice chokes up more with every sentence. “Flood our world with the Fade. He’s going to release the old Elvhen magisters. The ones who declared themselves Gods. The Gods I’ve been following for most of my life, until the Temple, when I switched religions. They were all just... mortals. Mortals who wanted to destroy the world, so the Veil was put in place to lock them in the Fade so they couldn’t hurt anybody anymore.”

 

The news floors Varric, he doesn’t even know what to say for several heartbeats. He looks off into the rest of the infirmary. His shoulders sag, and all he manages is a feeble, “Oh, hell.”

 

He wants to ask Ewan if he’s serious, but one look over his shoulder at the expression that the elf is wearing is proof enough that he isn’t making things up. He realizes all of a sudden what this means for Ewan, and a heaviness settles into his chest.

 

Ewan’s jaw trembles. “Solas was the one who put the Veil there,” he says quietly. “He’s one of them. He’s... he’s one of the Gods. He’s one of the Gods whose stories I grew up on.” he reaches up and wipes furiously at the hot tears in his eyes. “He stopped their plan, and sealed them in the Fade, but now he regrets it and he wants to release them. He says he thinks our world is in such a state of disrepair that it’s beyond fixing, and he wants to purge the world by releasing the Elvhen Gods, so they can start over fresh.”

 

He lifts his head to look at Varric, and he can’t wipe the tears away fast enough anymore. “He was a God this whole time, and he let... he let me fall in love with him. I understand now why he left me, but I’m furious that he ever let it start to begin with. This would be so much easier if I didn’t love him--” his voice breaks and he caves in, shoulders hunching as he gives a pained, mewling sob.

 

“Gods aren’t exempt from being assholes.” Varric says bitterly, his voice dripping with anger. If he could get his hands on Solas he would tear him apart limb from limb for what he’d done to the Inquisition, but most of all for what he’s done to Ewan.

 

The dwarf shifts on the bed so that he’s facing Ewan, more or less, and he takes his hand tenderly. He doesn’t say anything, just holds his hand and watches him sob as the pain washes over him.

 

Eventually the sobs cease and Ewan is left shaking and choking. Varric puts a blanket around his shoulders and he moves to clutch it with both hands before his left hand refuses to obey, and he remembers-- and the pain comes back. The tears don’t return, but he sobs, dry and painful into his hand.

 

“Cole,” he says after several long minutes. “Cole helps with things like this. Cole could make me forget. He could make me forget that I loved him.”

 

“Is that really what you want? To forget?” Varric asks, his expression pained and frustrated. He cannot even begin to imagine how Ewan is feeling. If this is what he wants, he won’t stop him.

 

Ewan stares down at his missing hand, the wrapped stump of his arm, and he swears he can feel his left hand clench.

 

“He didn’t do this to me,” he says quietly. “I know everyone thinks he did, and... it made me feel good, to know how angry they are at him for it, and I didn’t think it made much of a difference if they knew the truth. The truth is so much worse...” he rubs at his forehead with a pained grimace, shaking through another stifled sob. “The mark was getting so much worse, you saw how it kept flaring up, it hurt so bad, I could feel it all the way up to my shoulder, it made my guts turn... he told me it was going to kill me, and he was right. And then he... he kissed me. Told me he loved me. And then he walked away.”

 

He shakes in silence for a few moments, gasping for breath. His face is twisted up into a horrible grief-stricken grimace. “He left me to die with it. He left it to kill me. I had to find a weapon, blind with pain, I had to... he just left me there-- ” he cuts off into a broken sob and covers his face with his hand.

 

“Bastard!” Varric spits, his body going cold. As he watches Ewan dissolve once again, he sees red. “I’ll kill him myself if I ever see him again. God or not, he deserves to die for what he’s done to you!”

 

These last couple of days, Varric has kept his anger and pain under control, but hearing from Ewan what had happened brings it all crashing back, and he’s suddenly seeing the point behind Bull’s rampages when he’s upset. He’s so mad he could just blindly start smashing things and not even think of the consequences.

 

Ewan gasps for breath for a few moments, shaking his head slowly. He can’t even comprehend the events of that meeting with Solas, it feels so unreal.“So to answer your question,” he whispers. “Yes. I’m sure I want to forget.”

 

Varric calms down at that, he takes a deep breath and nods. “Alright . . . I can talk to Cole for you if you want me to . . .”

 

“It would be better,” Ewan says softly. “Better for me, and for everyone else, if the next time we face him, my love for him does not cloud my judgment. If I hadn’t loved him then, if I had been in my right mind, if I hadn’t been so selfish, I could have killed him then and there, and I should have, but I couldn’t, because--” he moans, his muscles going rigid with grief. “Next time we find him, we have to kill him. We have to stop him. We can’t waste time trying to change his mind, it isn’t worth the risk. Nobody else could put the Veil back and lock away the Elvhen Gods if he succeeds.”

 

“You’re right, I’m not going to pretend like you’re not.” Varric says in a rough voice. “He needs to go down . . . Wish there was another way besides getting your head messed with, though.”

 

“It’s worth it,” Ewan sniffs, rubbing at his running nose with the back of his hand. “I don’t want to be in pain anymore. I want to be angry. It took a long time for the sadness to go away so I could get angry, but the sadness is back again and I know I won’t survive it a second time. I need to be sharp and focused and--” he gives another sob. “And I just don’t want to love him anymore.”

 

“I understand.” Varric says, adjusting himself on the bed. It seems like Ewan is hunting for approval on this, like he needs someone to tell him it’s okay to do it. Varric has his doubts, mostly because messing with someone’s mind seems dangerous, but if this is what Ewan needs, he’s not going to stand in his way.

 

Ewan mops at his burning eyes, but there are no tears. He lifts the stump of his arm again and sneers down at it, clenching his phantom hand even when it hurts. “If I don’t get at least one hook out of this deal I quit,” he says tiredly, and looks up at Varric. “Wanna get drunk with me? I don’t think the Exalted fucking Council will mind if I take one more day off.”

 

“Get drunk with you? Now that sounds like a plan.” Varric says, a familiar laughter twinkling in his voice once again, though he still sounds tired. “That’ll help you forget for at least a little while until Cole can work his magic.”

 

“Do you think Josephine will completely lose her mind if we keep this information about Solas secret for one last day? I’m just... not ready for the whole Inquisition to know yet. I’m not ready for it to be that real, you know?” he looks over at Varric with ringed, puffy eyes. “For just 24 more hours I want to pretend it was all a bad dream and I lost my hand in a tragic tree climbing accident.”

 

“You know Ruffles, she’ll likely be scrambling to find out what happened, but she’s a big girl. I think she can handle not knowing for just another day. I won’t be telling anyone, for my part.” Varric says, patting Ewan’s leg gently.

 

“Then help me fashion a rope out of these sheets I think if they see me try to walk out of the front door of this place they’ll put me back in this stupid bed, and I’m going stir crazy. I can’t tie knots with one hand.”

 

He turns and shoulders open the window and looks out at the sunset for a moment before peering down at the two-story drop with an appraising nod. The grounds are cleared out with the waning sunlight, and there’s not a soul in sight. He looks back over at Varric, who is looking at him like he’d just regrown his hand. “What? I still have one good hand and abs of steel, I can climb a rope. Come on, sneak out with me.”

 

“And here I thought you were the picture of righteousness,” Varric replies through a laugh. He slides off the bed and helps Ewan strip the sheets and blankets down. Since tying them together with one hand isn’t a great option, Varric ties them together end to end and nicks a few sheets off of nearby beds to make the length of the makeshift rope longer.

 

He ties one end to one of the sconces that is worked into the stone of the wall and tugs to make sure it’s nice and secure. Then, throwing it out the window, he peers over the sill to check to make sure it’s long enough, and satisfied he beckons Ewan over.

 

“I’ll go down first, and then you go, that way if you start to slip I might have a chance to catch you.”

 

Heart beating out of his chest, Varric starts down the rope. He feels like a young man again, sneaking out to get up to mischief. It’s thrilling to say the least, and he can’t stop grinning from ear to ear.

 

Ewan uses his thighs mostly to lower himself down the rope. He’s still wearing his silvery silk smallclothes, practically naked and barefoot in the cool evening air. They sneak through the grounds, hiding behind bushes as patrols go by, holding fingers to their lips to shush one another whenever they see a lazy guard circling like a fat, uninterested vulture. The royal blue gates come into view and with a quick climb over the ivy scaffolding, they’re scrambling down into the grass on the other side of the wall surrounding the Winter Palace.

 

“The damn Viscount of Kirkwall and the fucking Inquisitor, sneaking out like schoolchildren,” Ewan’s voice is tight and quiet with mirth. This is what he craved, after two solid years of anger and seriousness and pain, fighting with Ferelden and against Orlais, struggling to find meaning for a shrinking organization he built up from nothing as a nobody-- this is what he needed.

 

“Hey!” Ewan’s head snaps around and he sees a guard pointing at them from the gates.

 

“Run!” Ewan squeals, and his feet beating the grass like the hooves of halla. He’s a little boy again, running across the frostbitten grass of his childhood, arms pumping, lungs burning. He can hear Varric laughing behind him as he struggles to keep pace with the nimble, light-footed elf, whose natural place is running through trees exactly like these ones.

 

Varric’s shorter legs carry him paces behind Ewan, and he can hear the guard pursuing them, his armor weighing him down considerably compared to the half naked elf and the dwarf. They laugh the whole time they’re running, eventually passing through a copse of trees and they split up. The guard loses them somewhere among the trees, they both have to quiet their laughter so he doesn’t catch them.

 

When the guard leaves to regroup or come back with more of his kind, Varric finds Ewan slumped behind a tree and breathing hard. The elf is doubled over and all of his nervous laughter comes out of him. Varric cannot contain himself anymore and breaks down into fits of laughter himself.

 

“So where are we headed, Mastermind?”

 

“Somewhere small and dirty and anonymous,” Ewan’s face hurts, he’s grinning so hard, and Solas is finally, blissfully, for the first time in years, the last thing from his mind. He takes Varric by the hand, finding peace in his simple, easy affection, and drags him into town.

 

Ewan is stared at for a while for being in knee-high silk leggings and a sleeveless top to match, especially for the bandage-wrapped stump of his arm, but wave enough coin around and eventually even the most wary of bartenders will give drinks. He sits cross-legged on a bar stool and downs a pint faster than anybody as skinny as him ought to. He wants to get as drunk as he can as fast as possible to keep Solas from creeping back into his mind.

 

Varric decides that, whatever happens, he needs to be the responsible one here. He knows that Ewan needs this, but that’s no reason that he has to get shit faced. Of course he’ll drink with him, but getting drunk is out of the question. Someone has to be there to help him get himself together by the end of the night.

 

They drink, Varric tells stories about his time as viscount of Kirkwall, goes on at length about how boring it is and how much he’s missed being a part of the Inquisition. Ewan fills up on ale, his cheeks going pink at some point in the night. It’s good to see him laughing again, but Varric knows that this mood can’t last for long. He’s going to fall, and when he does he’s going to need someone to catch him.

 

Varric rents a room at the inn and helps Ewan into the bed while he takes the chair in the corner. As Ewan sleeps away his drunkenness, Varric puffs on his pipe for a while and ends up telling himself stories to pass the time before he eventually falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRESSPASSER SPOILERS STILL!!! Every chapter from here on has Tresspasser spoilers, so be wary
> 
> I'm not sure if Cole is technically capable of doing what he does in this chapter, but everything from here on out is basically just speculation anyway, to help give me some closure for Ewan

 

Morning comes brutally for Ewan, who wakes up with a wicked headache. He moans into his pillow until Varric wakes up and helps him upright with a drink of water. He shakes himself into consciousness, and the guilt of the last night starts to creep into him. He draws his knees up to his chest, feeling the chill of being in his silk smallclothes now that he doesn’t have any booze in him to warm him up. He hides his face in his knees with a sigh.

 

Making the walk of shame back to the Winter Palace in his underthings would be the worst part, he thought for sure. Until Cullen and Josephine greeted them at the front gate. Ewan hangs his head in shame as the two of them bring Ewan to their temporary war room. Josephine shoves a blanket at him furiously, which he wraps around himself and sits miserably on one of the benches. In her rage, Josephine forgets to even close the door, much less escort Varric out of the room.

 

“Do you have any idea how this looks?!” Josephine shrieks, and Ewan flinches. “First we get news that the injured Inquisitor was spotted fleeing into the night in his underpants, we find sheets fashioned into a rope from the infirmary window, no word from you, not even a note saying if you plan on coming back! The Orlesian Court is in a frenzy, they think you left for good and are clamoring for us to name a new Inquisitor, the Ferelden Ambassador is about to eat his hat he’s so furious! I’m left here to deal with the both of them-- on my own! And here you come back, _still in your underpants,_ looking like you slept underneath somebody’s horse cart!”

 

“I know,” Ewan says softly, keeping his head bowed with shame. “I just... needed to not be Inquisitor for a night.”

 

“You don’t have that luxury!” Josephine yells. The tears come back, but Ewan keeps his head ducked low enough that she doesn’t see them.

 

“The Exalted Council is trying to disband us,” Cullen reminds the Inquisitor, his tone equally firm, but much less loud. “You need to be our strong leader now more than ever if we’re going to get through this. Unless you don’t care if we’re disbanded, in which case, carry on with this foolishness. It is, after all, ultimately up to you.”

 

Ewan’s shoulders start to shake with quiet sobs. Josephine and Cullen look at one another uncomfortably.

 

“You know,” Varric starts, casually walking through the still open door, his chin tilted at just the right angle to give him the cocky swagger that he needs, “This was my idea. I suggested we go out and have a drink.”

 

Before Josephine can even say anything, the dwarf raises his hand. “Irresponsible, I know, what can I say? Being Viscount of Kirkwall hasn’t done anything to curb my adventurous side.”

 

“Varric,” Ewan looks up and shakes his head, tears fresh and glittering on his cheeks. “Don’t do this.”

 

“Do what? Take responsibility for my inaction? I could have stopped you from going, but I didn’t, because . . .” he looks from Josephine to Cullen, “ . . . I know that sometimes he needs to unwind, especially considering that he lost an arm.”

 

Josephine clears her throat and Cullen shifts uncomfortably, both of them looking pointedly away from Varric for a moment. Ewan lifts the corner of his blanket to wipe at his tears and pats the bench for Varric to sit down beside him.

 

“Regardless of that unfortunate fact, we still have to answer to the Exalted Council. Orlais is trying to save face, grasping for straws while trying to find some grain of reasonability in this garish display, and Ferelden is already starting to spread the word of your shameful debauch, and calling you too irresponsible to lead an organization like this anymore,” Josephine says a moment later, drumming her fingers on her clipboard. “And they may be right, if you think this sort of behavior is acceptable.”

 

Ewan swallows hard, and bites the bullet. “We found Solas.”

 

Josephine and Cullen freeze. They glance over at Varric for confirmation, wide-eyed and searching.

 

“It’s true, we found him . . .” Varric starts as he takes a seat on the bench beside Ewan. Since the occasion is more formal he resists the urge to wrap an arm around the Inquisitor. Instead he looks to him and gives him a comforting smile, urging him to continue.

 

Ewan slowly unfolds the story of everything he learned from Solas-- including information he hadn’t even gone into with Varric alone. The longer he talks, the more Josephine and Cullen’s expressions fall into horror and they keep glancing at eachother as if to confirm that the other heard everything Ewan is saying.

 

Josephine slowly takes a seat as Ewan speaks, and Cullen leans heavily on the table on his hands as Ewan details Solas’ early rise to godhood, his responsibility in Corypheus’ power and the subsequent rip in the Veil, his betrayal of the rest of the Elvhen Gods, and judgment of the world as it is today. His plans to tear down the floodgates into the Fade catches their attention particularly hard as Ewan details severely how he plans to destroy the world so they can rebuild from the bottom up.

 

“And I lost the only thing that can close tears in the Fade,” he says, waving his residual limb in the air. “So we have to stop him.”

 

Josephine is hanging her head in both hands now, while Cullen drags his hands down his face with a weary sigh. “Did he say when he plans to do this?”

 

“A few years, at least,” Ewan says quietly. “He wants to dismantle the Qun first, so that will take him some time.”

 

“Dismantle the Qun?” Josephine repeats, lifting her head in confusion. “What does the Qun have to do with the Veil?”

 

“Nothing,” Ewan shrugs a shoulder. “He just detests slavery of any kind, and he considers all followers of the Qun slaves. It means that we’ll have time to track him down. I doubt this’ll happen all at once even when he does start the process of tearing down the Veil, there will be ripples, and we can trace ripples. We can find him, and we can kill him.”

 

“Kill him?” Cullen looks up, startled. Josephine’s brows knit up. “You--”

 

“Kill him,” Ewan cuts him off, his tone clipped and harsh.

 

Varric absorbs all of the information as quickly as he can. He’s always had a good brain for holding onto things, it’s what had made him such a good storyteller for all these years, whether the story be written or otherwise a tall tale. When Ewan’s last words fall, harsh and finite, there are no questions as to whether or not he’s certain about the verdict he’s come to.

 

The dwarf nods darkly to Ewan, letting him know that he stands behind his decision wholeheartedly. “This is more than just a betrayal to the Inquisition. He’s talking about destroying _everything_. We can’t just let that slide.”

 

Cullen blows out a long breath, scrubbing at his forehead. He looks over to Josephine with a bitter half-smile. “Well, at least we’ve got good reason to tell both Orlais and Ferelden to piss off now, right? They can’t demand disbanding when a God is out there running around threatening the world. Again. Didn’t we just deal with that?”

 

Josephine gives an exhausted-sounding laugh. “You’re not wrong,” she says, looking up at Ewan with a sigh. “I apologize for shouting at you. That sounds like... quite the ordeal. As if everything you have ever been through has not been an ordeal. I will bring this up to the Exalted Council first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

“No,” Ewan stands up, sniffling and shedding his blanket. “I’ll tell them now.”

 

“You? But you’re--” Josephine starts, but Ewan gives her a smile and holds up his hand to cut her off.

 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get dressed first.”

 

“That’s not what I was going to say,” Josephine frowns.

 

“I know,” Ewan’s fragile smile falls. “I’m responsible for what the court thinks of me now because of last night, and I’m prepared to face them. It’s nothing I can’t handle, Josie, you know that.”

 

He kisses her on the cheek and rubs her arm before taking his leave. At the doorway he glances back at Varric and gestures with his chin for the dwarf to follow. He walks with his head held up high as they pass through the halls of the Winter Palace, even as those inside whisper and point at the naked Inquisitor.

 

“I want you to find Cole, please,” he says as they climb the stairs to his temporary quarters. “Bring him to my room. I want you to be there, too.”

 

“Alright, bossman.” Varric says, and for a moment he hesitates at the foot of the stairs as Ewan starts up. “Good luck!” He calls out, and makes his way out into the palace grounds.

 

Varric searches for Cole in all the usual places he would think to look. He checks in with the soldiers in their barracks, but finds it lacking in ghostly young men. He checks inside the palace and around the gardens, thinking he might have found him enjoying the morning sunlight somewhere under a shady tree. Varric searches the infirmary, thinking he may be there “helping” people to get better, in the way he has.

 

When he does eventually find him it’s in the small tavern in the west garden. His hat makes him stand out from the other patrons, not to mention his pale skin and shock of blonde hair that seems to always be in his face.

 

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

 

Sitting cross-legged on one of the little round tables, Cole looks up from where Maryden had been teaching him how to properly hold her lute and put his fingers in a g chord. He blows up over his nose to get his bangs out of his eyes and smiles at Varric.

 

“Hello,” he says, re-positioning his fingers in the chord and strumming one single, shaky note. “How does it sound?”

 

“Sounds like the beginnings of beautiful music. Keep trying, you’ll get it,” Varric smiles as he watches Cole strum the note again. The sound buzzes a little as his fingers slip on holding note. Varric smiles briefly to Maryden before returning his gaze to Cole. “Ewan needs to see you. It’s a personal matter.”

 

Cole looks up again into Varric’s eyes, and his smile instantly drops. “Personal, bad, then,” he says softly. Varric doesn’t deny it, so he hands the lute back to Maryden. “Bad like a cough, or bad like a cancer?”

 

“Bad like cancer,” Varric says, thinking on just what needs to be done. In a way, they’re cutting Solas out of Ewan’s life like a tumor. For some reason unknown to Varric, admitting it is harder than he might have anticipated. “He needs you, Cole.”

 

Cole looks over at Maryden, who gives him a nod and takes up her lute to start strumming while he steps down off the table. He follows beside Varric through the gate to the garden. “Can you tell me what it is?” he asks as they climb the front steps to the palace. “I have been trying to not go into the minds of people when I don’t really need to. Maryden has been teaching me to talk more, instead. She says, it is more polite.”

 

Varric lets the noise of the tavern die down before he starts to speak again. “It concerns Solas, but I think that he would want to explain the situation to you himself. It feels wrong giving you secondhand information--thanks for not messing around in my head though, I appreciate that.”

 

“I did not need to open a window when I can see how sad you are in your eyes,” Cole says softly. “You have sadness in them that you can’t hide behind the curtains of your smiles.”

Ewan is pressed in his black suit, fully decorated by the time Cole and Varric arrive. He’d been standing at the window, clasping his residual limb behind his back, and turns when he hears them enter the room. Cole inhales a quiet gasp as soon as he looks Ewan in the eye, and he has to duck his head to hide his eyes behind the long brim of his hat.

 

“Profound sadness,” he says, his hands clenching. “You want me to do something very bad to you, don’t you?”

 

“Not bad,” Ewan says, though his tone is grim. “If anyone knows how sad I’ve been the last few years, it’s you, Cole. You can’t escape it. I know you’ve felt it.”

 

“I have felt it,” Cole agrees, fiddling with a strap on his vest. “I’ve felt it clawing at you, clutching your throat, you try to breathe through it and pretend it’s fine but I can see the bruises on your neck, even now, I can see them, I can see how much you hurt, but your hurt is what makes you mortal and normal and elven and right.”

 

“Cole,” Ewan says softly, trying to calm down the distressed young man. “I need you to make me forget.”

 

“That isn’t fair,” Cole gasps, and backs up against the door.

 

“You help people all the time, Cole,” Ewan frowns, sitting on the edge of his bed.

 

“I help them forget things when they are hurting or dying or would be worse with their memories, I take away the poison people put in their own cups, but this is love, you want me to take away love, you want me to lock it away so you can pretend it wasn’t real but it won’t last, I can’t take away something this big or important, it’s not little like making somebody forget their brother’s birthday so they don’t make the dangerous trip home when they could send a letter, this is so big it could kill you when it comes back.”

 

“Comes back?” Ewan swallows, glancing over at Varric.

 

“It’s like making you forget colors,” Cole hisses. “It’s too big to hide forever, it will come back, and when it does it will choke you worse than before, the pain will be like mountains, crushing down an avalanche on you, like Haven, your love will destroy you.”

 

“Cole,” Ewan’s tone is firm again, snapping Cole out of his babbling. “This is my decision. If it kills me then, so be it. I just need time, and this will buy me some time.”

 

“It isn’t fair,” Cole says again, shaking his head. “You will be different.”

 

“I will be better,” Ewan insists.

 

As Varric listens to Cole babble, he begins considering things that he hadn’t before. The dwarf shifts and glances sidelong at Cole, his eyes moving slowly over to where Ewan is sitting perched on the bed.

 

“Cole has a point. What happens when you meet Solas again? He’ll still have those feelings, it isn’t as if Cole wiping your memory will wipe Solas’. All of this could come crashing back on you when the day comes to face him.”

 

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," Ewan says resolutely. "That could be years from now, years that I need to be sharp for. Even now--" his voice trembles and nearly breaks, but he takes a breath to steady it. "Even now when I _know_ we must kill him to save the whole world, all I want to do is change his mind so he doesn't have to die. I can't afford to be in love, I have to be a leader, and that means I can't put any one person's life over the life of anybody else's."

 

"You did when you spared the Chargers," Cole argues.

 

"That's not--"

 

"And when you helped me be human, you were going to let me kill that man."

 

"Cole--"

 

"And, you let Stroud die, even though--"

 

"Cole!" Ewan stands up to his feet abruptly. "This isn't up for debate. I have to go inform the Exalted Council in less than half an hour of _my_ ex-lover's plot to destroy the whole world. They already think I'm incapable of leading, they think I'm losing my mind, and honestly," he holds up his thumb and finger an inch apart. "I'm this close to agreeing with them. If word gets out that I'm _in love_ with the man who means to destroy the whole world, that'll be the end of the Inquisition, and ultimately, everything. Because if the Inquisition goes, you can bet the rest of the world won't pull together in time to stop Solas, since the Inquisition is the only thing that's done anything of fucking use in the past decade, at least!"

 

Cole is flattened up against the door, and Ewan sighs as he takes a step back from where he'd been closing in on the young man.

"But you'll die," Cole whispers.

"I have to put the good of the whole world over any one individual's life," Ewan says grimly. "That includes me."

 

“Cole . . .” Varric says, laying a hand on the ghostly young man’s forearm. He swallows down the lump in his throat. “ . . . it’s what Ewan wants. You have to understand his position--he isn’t just looking out for his life anymore. You’d be doing this to help people.”

 

Varric can almost see the words dancing before his eyes. He’ll write about the nobility of Ewan’s act, about the self sacrifice and the heroism of it. Briefly he recalls his words to Ewan at the beginning of the Inquisition, when he’d urged him to run. Where would they be if he’d heeded those words?

 

Cole’s breath has pitched up into his nose, caught between the intense moral dilemma of refusing to kill one of his best and only friends, and potentially being single-handedly responsible for the destruction of the entire world and every life that inhabits it.

 

He stares at the floor for a long time, trying to just catch his breath, trying to ride out the still-new waves of emotions that crash into him from every side. His own emotions, of fear and doubt and worry-- Varric’s feelings of hesitant indecision and guilt bombard him from one side, while Ewan’s feelings of dignified resignation and deeply-rooted depression crash against him from the other side.

 

“Okay...” he says finally, his voice tinny and strained. He sits beside Ewan on the bed, and reaches out to take his face in both hands. His fingers shake. He’s never been afraid to help people before. “You’re sure.”

 

“I’m sure,” Ewan closes his eyes, feeling as though that will somehow make it easier.

 

The next thing he feels is a blinding pain behind his eyes. He screams, and crumples, he feels hands on his face, like something is being drawn out of his eyes, threads being pulled until they snap. He distantly hears Varric’s voice-- _You’re hurting him!_ \-- and then he blacks out.

 

The next thing he’s aware of is lying on the hardwood floor. His head is all scrambled around, vertigo has claimed him, and Varric and Cole are helping him stand up. He tips out the window and vomits, shaking as he leans up against and sinks down the wall. He stares blearily around the room, blinking in confusion up at his friends. He can barely recall why they’re here. Something to do with the Exalted Council.

 

“What were we talking about?” he croaks, his voice unsteady and hoarse.

 

Varric looks to Cole, sharing a look with him for a moment. Had it worked? He seems to not remember asking them here. How much of his memory had he lost, Varric wonders. They help him into a chair, and Cole brushes dust off of his shoulders, wearing a guilty expression.

 

“We were here to listen to what you had to say to the Exalted Council. You wanted someone to bounce your words off of-- you found me and Cole on your way back here. I was just teaching Cole about playing Wicked Grace when you asked us to accompany you.”

 

Ewan squints up at the two of them in confusion. That doesn’t seem to match up with his memory, but... he’s been woozy for the past couple days, with losing blood and recovering and drinking heavily, so he must have passed out and hit his head. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a concussion. His head feels like it’s full of cobwebs.

 

“Right,” he says, unsure of his own voice. He clears his throat, and starts to rehearse words that feel like they’re coming to him for the first time.

 

 

 

 

===

 

 

 

 

Appearing before the Exalted Council with his head clear renews Ewan’s reputation as the responsible leader of the Inquisition, but only after some very strenuous talks. The Inquisition is to remain, and it refuses to answer to Orlais, but will heed the call of Divine Victoria instead. There is some outrage, but Ewan is quick to smooth any ruffled feathers by assuring that the Inquisition has the best interests of everyone at it’s heart.

 

Meanwhile, Varric sends word out to each member of the Inquisition’s Inner Circle, that they might come and speak with him in the Grand Library. With the ruckus around the Winter Palace, it’s a few days before he can gather everyone in one place without Ewan’s notice, but he’s so busy easing tempers and restoring his reputation after the drinking fiasco that he doesn’t have time to notice if anyone has gone missing.

 

At the appointed time, they begin filing in, with Cassandra first to arrive, looking as surly and resolute as ever. She questions Varric on why they are to meet here, but he saves his words for when their company is greater in number. Slowly they all come, with Sera and Bull bringing up the rear. They find a quiet corner in which to speak. The library is thankfully empty.

 

“I’m sure you all know the news by now . . . about Solas,” Varric starts, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms. He sets his gaze on Cassandra for now, though he’s addressing everyone. “Usually it’s easy for me to find pretty words to say things, but this . . . this is hard. Ewan had Cole wipe his memories regarding his relationship with Solas-- it would be best if we all forget ourselves.”

 

“What?” Josephine blurts first. Noises of dissent crawl through the gathered group, frustration and fear and pity alight on everyone’s lips.

 

“Cole can _do_ that?” the Bull looks over to Dorian, who simply has a hand clamped over his mouth in shock.

 

“I warned us about him,” Vivienne says severely. “Where is he? I don’t even see him here.”

 

“The kid’s taking it hard,” Varric says, coming to Cole’s defense against Vivienne in his usual fashion. “He’s probably with Maryden.”

 

“So, what does this mean?” Sera bangs her foot on the table she’s sitting cross-legged on to stop the quarreling. “I mean, this ain’t exactly bad, is it? Ewan’ll stop being all mopey all the time about Egg, that’s it, isn’t it?”

 

“I don’t know,” Varric replies, looking over the collected group with a truly worried expression painted over his features. “Cole acted like it was going to kill him. I don’t know how much of that is true or if it’s some kind of metaphor the kid was using.”

 

“You were there?” Cassandra interjects, taking a step forward as though she might throttle the dwarf where he stands. “You were there and you didn’t talk him out of it?”

 

“I was doing what I thought was best for Ewan,” Varric defends, his attention snapping to Cassandra, and for a moment it looks as if they might lunge at each other.

 

“You should have stopped him,” Vivienne says in a calm voice edged with barely concealed anger. “Cole’s powers are dangerous. There is no predicting what may happen to Ewan. He may _die_.”

 

“You think I don’t know that?” Varric says, his voice raising in the quiet of the library. “You didn’t see him after he came back. He was torn to pieces--he may as well have been dead.”

 

“I saw him,” Dorian says quietly, and all eyes turn to him. He’s clutching at the front of his shirt with one hand, his eyes shiny with unfallen tears. He gives a bitter laugh with all the attention on him, and sniffs. “Well don’t all jump on me at once. I saw him, briefly. He looked like death warmed over.”

 

“Solas is all he’s thought about for years, isn’t it?” Sera says matter of factly. “Maybe this is better for him. I know if my Widdle ran off all of a sudden with no warning and then went all _by the way I’m a God_ and _I’m gonna destroy the world_ , I’d wanna forget her, too.”

 

“He hasn’t forgotten _Solas_ ,” Varric says tiredly. “You heard him at the talks. He's just missing the romance parts.”

 

“So when he was talking about the Inquisition tracking down and killing Solas, that growth that we all thought we saw in him,” Cullen says seriously. “It was all a trick. Cole played with his head and he’s just _forgotten_. He hasn’t really moved past anything, this is just a temporary plank put over the door. How long do you think it’ll last? Vivienne is right, what happens when he remembers?”

 

“So what about then?” Sera defends. “Can you say if this happened to you and you were at the top of the pile like he is, you wouldn’t want this too? What if Cole walked up to you in your big stupid office and said hey, I can make you forget all that crazy bullshit that nearly killed you when you stopped druggin’ your shite-ass?”

 

“That is uncalled for,” Cullen barks, pointing a finger at her.

 

“Enough,” Blackwall booms, and the bickering falls silent. “It’s already done. This infighting is pointless.The Inquisitor has done what he needs to do in order to lead. You all are standing around arguing about this, blind to what you’re even arguing about. The only reason any of you are upset is because you care about our leader on a personal level, but arguing won’t accomplish anything. If we force those memories to come back now, he _could_ die. Personally, I’d rather not risk it.”

 

The library doors open and Leliana walks in, hands clasped behind her back as she observes the group. “I know,” she holds a hand up to stop Varric from explaining before he even has a chance to get a single word out. “I have heard. Ewan has done this because stopping Solas is the right thing to do. Can any of you honestly say there is not something in your past you wish you could forget?”

 

Heads hang collectively in shame and deep thought. Sighs wash over the gathered Inquisition.

 

“Ewan has taken an enormous risk and made an enormous sacrifice, and you are all acting as though he’s done this to worry or offend you personally,” she continues. “This matter goes far beyond all of you, beyond any of us as individuals. We have to support Ewan’s decision, if rejecting it could mean his death.”

 

“So we’re all in agreement then?” Varric asks, glancing around at everyone who all nod or mutter their consent to the arrangement.

 

The door opens again, and Ewan walks in with Cassandra’s Seeker book tucked under his arm. He hadn’t had a chance to read it yet, although he’d talked with her at length about it, and he finally had a moment free so he’d come to the library, hoping for at least an hour of peace and quiet.

 

He freezes when he sees the entirety of the Inner Circle gathered, including the Divine, and his brows knit together as he glances around the room.

 

“Um...” he clears his throat and takes a half-step back. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

Varric doesn’t miss a step, he yells “Surprise!” but the lack of a follow through from the rest of the Inner Circle makes the situation awkward to say the least. He pushes through Bull and Dorian to get to Ewan and takes him by the arm, leading him over to the group.

 

“We all gathered here to party--celebrating your success with the Exalted Council.”

 

“Congratulations, yeah?” Sera says cheerily, and the others catch on, showering him with praise as he stands amid them all in the library, looking the picture of stunned.

 

Ewan blinks at his group in confusion, but he can’t help the corner of his mouth that quirks up into an amused smirk. “We’re... partying in the library?”

 

“Not exactly,” Varric says, slipping very quickly into a casual tone of voice. “You caught us unawares--we were going to take you into town and show you a really good time out--something more official than sneaking off in your small clothes, huh? We were meeting here first, but we were going to surprise you in your room.”

 

Ewan gives a laugh as his confusion starts to melt away into pleased acceptance. “Or we could _all_ go out in our smalls and really give the public a shock,” he chuckles as Bull’s arm comes down around his shoulders.

 

“I don’t think some of us would be comfortable doing that.” Varric says with a laugh, eyeing Cassandra in particular who gives him a look somewhere between frustrated and bemused.

 

Ewan glances at Dorian in concern for a moment, noticing his puffy, wet eyes, but he acts as if everything’s fine, which will mean a private conversation later over whatever upset him, probably something to do with Bull.

 

“I will not be joining you, my friend,” Leliana says with a smile. “The Divine cannot simply walk into town for a drink.”

 

“I understand,” Ewan embraces her. “I’ll find time to have a drink with you later, just the two of us.”

 

Leliana takes his arm when he turns to face the others, and when he looks back, her expression is grim. “Please, for their sake, be careful,” she whispers, and then walks away before he can even part his lips in question. He’s distracted a moment later by Sera taking one arm and Bull taking the other, as they lead him out of the library in Varric’s impromptu celebration.


	5. Chapter 5

The most remarkable thing about the Inquisition is that no matter how far-flung everybody is, they’re all still remarkably close. Whenever any of the Inner Circle cross paths in the years to follow, hugs are exchanged like the arms of the other is the only thing keeping them alive.

 

No matter how far they spread out, their loyalty to Ewan is unwavering. Whenever he calls for any of them, they come, whether that means a face-to-face meeting, or a favor wherever they may roam.

 

Leliana remains Ewan’s most important and trusted ally. The two of them work closely together from Ewan’s new headquarters, an old renovated castle just ten miles south of the Sunburst Throne. Ewan helps cover for Leliana sometimes when she finds a moment of peace enough to sneak a visit with the Hero of Ferelden. Ewan has yet to meet him, but Leliana herself, as well as all of history has only good things to say about him.

 

Josephine remains the main supplier for the Inquisition, and occasionally comes in for visits or to help with negotiations just for the fun of it. For old time’s sake, she’ll say, and Ewan doubts he’ll ever understand how she finds fun in negotiations that give him a headache that sometimes lasts for days, but he’s always happy to see her and always forces her to take at least one night off while she visits, no work allowed. Eventually he learns that she’ll sometimes contact him just when she’s desperate for a night off, but isn’t comfortable giving one to herself, and so relies on his insistence that she take it easy in order to feel like she has permission to do so. He is always willing.

 

Cullen remains stalwart by his side as the years go by. They start and end a short and slightly awkward fling that lasted for less than six months. The sex was unbelievable, but trying to communicate with one another outside of the bedroom was impossible when Cullen would never make eye contact and sometimes blanked out for entire conversations while trying to force himself to remain professional. They both agreed that for the interest of the Inquisition, not to mention that since all sex aside, their feelings for one another remained platonic on both ends, it would be better to remain as friends-- even if they do, occasionally, lapse into the comfort of another body once in a blue moon when things get too difficult to bear sleeping alone for a night.

 

Vivienne remained a close friend to Ewan, even though they rarely saw eye to eye on their opinions of mages. Ewan helped her fund her own Circle, which she stood in as Grand Enchanter, and despite his belief that mages should be free, he respected the decisions of those mages who willfully entered her circle and never kicked up a fuss in public. Vivienne appreciated his decorum, and for the most part they avoided any topics of discussion which left either of them feeling raw whenever they visited, which was frequently. Vivienne was happy to lend the support of her circle to Ewan whenever he needed its help monitoring the fluctuations in the Fade to track Solas.

 

Blackwall-- who was officially going by Thom Rainier to everyone but Ewan, who continued to call him Blackwall as a title and badge of honor, had pledged himself fully to the Wardens after the events of the Exalted Council, and while he and Ewan kept in contact the least between the entire Inner Circle, their dispatches were always friendly and cordial. Ewan frequently told him how proud he was of the Warden, to which Blackwall always was modestly dismissive, but Ewan knew he appreciated it. He scarcely ever saw him in person, but when he did, they would always throw knives together in pleasant, brotherly silence.

 

Iron Bull and his Chargers wandered all over Thedas, but they would always come at the drop of a hat when Ewan called. Ewan would frequently arrange jobs on purpose to send the Chargers near to the Tevinter border, just to give Bull an excuse to visit Dorian. Bull never thanked him explicitly for this, since he and Dorian were supposed to be keeping their relationship a secret, but Ewan never needed his thanks. For reasons he never quite understood, in the past few years in particular, he’s gotten very invested in the romance lives of others. He spoke nearly daily with Dorian about all matters, from the professional to the personal, and Bull came up in conversation often. Ewan relished in hearing Dorian describe his dates with Bull, and how he made Dorian feel loved.

 

Ewan took endless pleasure in setting up others, to the point where Match Maker became a secondary title given to him by the Inner Circle. He’d gone to great lengths to ordain himself as able to marry people, and his first Inquisitorial marriage was between Sera and Dagna. He’d never seen Sera in white before, and never did he think he would again. Sera and her Jennies were always at his disposal whenever he needed her help, and he never neglected to lend her a hand when she needed some higher-up assistance bringing down someone who deserved to be brought down low.

 

He was also responsible for the culmination of the years of sexual tension between Varric and Cassandra. When the Viscount had contacted Ewan to let him know Bianca finally made the final move to cut him out of her life, saying that it was honestly better for both of them, Ewan felt a distant and yet familiar stab of pain that he couldn’t identify. He’d thought it was just pity at the time, but it felt more like grief. He never really put much thought into it. It had been Cassandra, who had remained in very close contact with him over the years and her endeavors to rebuild the Seekers, who wrote Varric a strongly-worded letter telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of Bianca stringing him along for so many years only to ultimately leave him behind. The romantic in her came out full force that day, and although her wording was clumsy and her handwriting nearly illegible, Ewan took advantage of the situation and funded Cassandra’s trip to Kirkwall where she planned to “give him her condolences in person.”

 

Her condolences came in exactly the form Ewan predicted. What he didn’t see coming was the news, nearly a year later, that Cassandra had just given birth to Varric’s daughter. The girl, who they named Grace, stayed with Varric in Kirkwall so she had the opportunity for a solid, steady childhood, rather than being carted all over the countries while Cassandra continued in her quest to rebuild the Seekers. She visited Varric and Grace every other month or whenever she could get away, and Varric gave Ewan nearly constant updates on Grace’s progress, utterly charmed with his new, perfect distraction from being Viscount.

 

Cole, by far, acted the strangest out of the entire Inner Circle. He would never see Ewan alone, he refused his company unless there was at least another person there, but his comfort level seemed in direct proportion to the amount of people who accompanied him while visiting Ewan. When they were in a room together, Cole avoided eye contact with Ewan even more than usual, and the Inquisitor could usually find him whispering to himself about guilt, though he would never talk to Ewan about whatever his problem was. It made Ewan very worried, but it was always Varric who promised to talk to Cole, and the spectral young man always seemed placated by that.

 

Varric spent more time in Ewan’s stronghold than in Kirkwall, it seemed. He would bring Grace to visit Uncle Ewan, but she was getting to be a handful now that she was officially walking around on her own, and given how small she is as a half-dwarf, and with the fearlessness she inherited from Cassandra (according to Varric) she was easily and frequently lost until her cries of “Stuuuck!” rang through the halls and someone would find her behind a book shelf or under a couch. Varric has started to joke about a leash.

 

The rebuilding of Kirkwall’s many lost establishments was drawing to a close, though Varric’s work as viscount was far from over. With the Chantry rebuilt, the beginnings of change in Kirkwall stirred up as homes and businesses were restored to their former glory. Though happy with the restorations, Varric never seemed to fully integrate into the life of a noble and. When he was in Kirkwall, spent hours that he could get free in the Hanged Man telling stories, but between his duties and Grace, he didn’t get much time to himself any more. Of course he held no resentment toward his daughter for this fact, but he did sometimes feel the pangs of getting older and settling down.

 

Fatherhood suited him better than he would have thought. When Gracie was first born, he was terrified. Frightened of holding her for fear of hurting her, scared of what the future would hold for he and Cassandra. She reassured him that he would know what to do, and he had believed her, though Grace did end up putting more gray in his hair than he could have anticipated.

 

Varric and Cassandra kept up together with letters. He would detail his days with Grace, letting her mother know exactly how alike they were, calling their daughter stubborn and courageous. He was pleased to find that Grace liked to hear stories, though he admitted that he kept the gory details to a minimum for her.

 

Barely able to talk, Grace was already starting to tell stories of her own, in half-intelligible babbles while she acts them out with whatever she can find to represent people. Wooden chess pieces, flower vases, feather quills, even the discarded hilts of swords, removed for repairs. Varric gushes about how she’ll be the one to carry on the Tethras books, but Ewan jokes that Cassandra will probably conscript her into the Seekers by the time she’s five. Varric is worried it’s not as much of a joke as Ewan acts.

 

Sometimes Varric pushes Ewan to settle down himself. He’s twenty eight years old (Varric never has a problem reminding him of his age) and he’s hot on the market-- the handsome Inquisitor who has saved the world now twice and is working on a third time. He encourages Ewan to find a good wife or husband, to get ready to have a family when the whole thing with Solas blows over finally. Ewan always laughs him off, but the closer they get to zeroing in on Solas, the clearer it becomes to Varric that Ewan is denying himself the right to romance because he is certain he’ll die in the final attack.

 

Ewan isn’t sure where the feeling is coming from. Gut instinct, he tells himself, but it feels deeper than that. As though he’d seen the future a long time ago, and forgot what he saw, but it sits at the back of his mind and preys on him like a cancer. He’s so certain of the fact that he’ll die in that final battle that he’s already started to make arrangements. Josephine was concerned to learn that he wanted to write up a will, but she insisted on being the one to do it. He said he’d have no other.

 

Varric sets Ewan up on a few dates, but they rarely ever work out. One with a dwarven artificer, another with a human mage. But Ewan seems to have himself locked up tight behind the walls that he’s built up, and the Inquisitor has no idea of the truth. The truth eats away at Varric so badly that the only thing that keeps him from telling Ewan why he feels so rudderless where love is concerned is the very real possibility that revealing the truth might kill Ewan, or worse, cause him lasting pain.

 

As Gracie grows, she tells stories about Uncle Ewan to anyone who will listen, even if those people were themselves involved in the stories. When Cassandra returns for brief stints between her work with the Seekers, she is continually astonished by how articulate and beautiful their daughter is. She and Varric argue about her fate, whether she’ll join the seekers or take up a Dwarven trade--whatever the case, Varric hopes that her love of telling stories never dies.

 

Fatherhood makes Varric care less about his appearance. Where once he wore shirts that would reveal his chest, he dresses more modestly, in clothes that befit a noble of Kirkwall. He grows a beard for the first time in his life, and wonders bitterly what Bartrand might have thought of his caving in to a Dwarven custom.

 

When the news comes from Ewan and Leliana’s combined network of spies that Solas has officially been spotted, things launch into action so quickly it leaves Varric’s head spinning. Ewan sends for his Inner Circle, and they converge like a pack of dogs at his calling.

 

Cassandra arrives first, as she’d already been on her way to visit Varric, and she’s joined within hours by Sera and Cole, who’d decided to travel together. Bull arrives a day later, followed shortly by Blackwall, and Vivienne after him, accompanied by half of her circle, no less. Dorian is stuck in the red tape of Tevinter politics, and so he is the last to arrive with an officially sanctioned ambassador’s visit.

 

When everybody is gathered again, just like old times, Ewan looks out at his friends with a fond, if sad smile.

 

“We have Solas’ location,” he says, setting a marker down on the war table that has seen him through so many years. “We can’t risk a full frontal attack. We know he’s been restoring and using Eluvians to travel, and if he sees us coming he’ll just disappear into the crossroads and he could be anywhere in the known universe at that point, it could take us another five years _or more_ to track him down again, and by then it may be too late. This is our one chance, and we can’t blow it.”

 

“According to my network, Solas has been amassing an army of Dalish elves,” Leliana says, her hands folded behind her back.

 

“I’ve fought armies before,” Ewan says, a hint of a smirk quirking his mouth. “Dalish are paper dolls compared to Red Templars.”

 

“So I take it,” Varric starts, stepping forward and crossing his arms as he looks from the marker on the map to Ewan, “The plan is a little more complex than busting down the door and shooting everyone in sight?”

 

The dwarf gives a knowing smirk, a thin show of confidence. Deep down he’s worried for not only his life, but Ewan’s and everyone else. He can’t bear the thought of Grace being abandoned by possibly both of her parents.

 

“You’d be right,” Ewan chuckles. “We’ll have to send in our spies first. We have a number of city elves at our disposal. I may even join them, provided Solas doesn’t see me. I doubt anybody would recognize me by my face. We’ve got to sneak in a few mages who can get close to his Eluvians and shut them down. We don’t necessarily want to break them, we just need to deactivate them, so he can’t run away. If he’s trapped, he’s dead.”

 

He notices a ripple of discomfort go nearly unnoticed through a few of their faces-- namely Dorian, Cole and Varric’s, but he doesn’t address it, figuring it’s just their unhappiness at having to kill an old friend.

 

“We’ll need the rest of our army ready to move at the drop of a hat. We need to circle the place, and converge from all sides, to give him no avenue for escape. We’re talking literal end of the world here if we fail, so we cannot possibly afford to let him escape. So far our only advantage is the fact that we’ve made no major moves to stop him or get in his way for the past five years, so he’s feeling cocky. But that means he’s been expecting us this whole time. So we have to strike fast and hard. Kill anybody who gets in our way. That includes children, if he tries to stop us by using them as a blockade, which we can’t put past him at this point since he plans to destroy the whole world anyway, and he knows that includes children. If we go soft at the last second, those children would die anyway, along with the rest of the entire world.”

 

The party hang their heads in thought as they struggle to square away Ewan’s words. They know he’s fundamentally right, but actually trying to conceptualize killing children, should they be weaponized against them, has everybody falling silent.

 

No one had neglected to notice where the marker on the map is positioned, but no one as of yet wants to mention the giant in the room, so to speak. A span of silence stretches in the room for a time before someone chances to speak, and it’s eventually Cullen who does.

 

“What about the giants in the Emerald Graves. They could pose a serious threat to us. They will reduce our mobility and hinder operations. Doubtless Solas has considered this, and will be looking to use this advantage against opposition.”

 

Ewan smirks at the soldier and glances over to Leliana and Bull. “We’ve got something for that, don’t worry.”

 

Bull bends down and lifts a large barrel onto the table, which creaks and nearly falls over from the weight until he supports it with his thighs. “Gaatlok,” he says confidently.

 

“But not just any gaatlok,” Leliana says smoothly. “It is combined with a powerful toxin that is known to put giants to sleep like kittens in a basket.”

 

“If the explosives don’t take them out, the gas will,” Ewan summarizes, crossing his arms and turning his confident smirk back to the commander, who clears his throat and glances away.

 

“This gaatlok,” Cassandra starts, glancing from the embarrassed Cullen to Ewan, “Will it not effect our own troops if they are in the vicinity of the blast?”

 

“The gas won’t,” Ewan says, dropping his arms back to his sides and clearing his throat. “It’s made from a plant which is poisonous only to giants. The explosion, though... well, it’ll be up to our troops to pay attention and not be in the vicinity of the blast.”

 

Cassandra seems satisfied with the answer for now and leaves the discussion at that. “Are our spies already in the area?”

 

“Not yet,” Ewan says, clasping his hands behind his back. “But they’re ready to move. We’re going to send them in groups of ten over the next month until we have the full hundred infiltrated. This does mean that there’s going to be a lot of face-tattooing going on. Several have already received their vallaslin, which if our reports are correct, Solas has been personally removing the tattoos of the Dalish who arrive, and they are arriving, every single day. Our spies will not be out of place, and they will be able to directly report on the condition of Solas if they’re given such close proximity to him.”

 

“If we’ve got spies jumpin’ right in Egg’s lap, how come we don’t just let one of ‘em stab him while he’s got his hands all up on their face?” Sera asks, sitting on the edge of the table. “Can’t defend himself if he’s got his fingers up their nose, can he?”

 

“Too risky,” Ewan shakes his head. “A thousand things could go wrong. They could miss something vital, or he could have some kind of magical barrier preventing injury, but we would be discovered and it would be too late. We have to disable the eluvians if we have any chance of trapping and killing Solas.”

 

“So if we can’t just cut his throat, what’s the plan of attack?” Varric asks, leaning against the wall casually. He and Cassandra have been sharing looks the entire discussion, he can tell that she’s thinking the same things that he is. Grace is first and foremost on their minds, but they must put aside their personal life for the Inquisition. That’s what it means to be in the Inner Circle.

 

“If we _can_ cut his throat, you’d better believe we will,” Ewan says as he unrolls a piece of parchment with reports folded inside. “But I don’t want to risk trying unless we have a backup plan in case it doesn’t work. And that means, soldiers surrounding the area, and disabled eluvians. According to Leliana’s network, it’s speculated that Solas has access to at least ten eluvians. He could have many more. Our spies will make notes of how many he has, and their locations. Cole will eventually be sent in and he will be instrumental in getting up close to the eluvians and passing through them to let us know where they go, as that’s information we’ll need as well.”

 

He glances up around the room at the faces of his Inner Circle and gives a fond smile. “This is it. Our last big push. After this, the Inquisition will probably be disbanded, provided everything goes well and we don’t have a second in command to deal with or any other ripples to tie up. This is our last fight together. If we fail, the whole world will feel it. You’ll all be given your specific orders in the weeks to come,” he takes a deep breath. “Let’s raise hell.”

 

“Alright, big end speech done yeah?” Sera slides off the table. “C’mon, Blackbeard, give it to ‘im.”

 

Blackwall sighs and rolls his eyes, glancing beside him at Dorian, who produces a long, thin box that had been hidden behind his cloak, and sets it on the table.

 

“What?” Ewan looks at their grinning faces as the box is slid across the table to him. He stops it with his good hand, brows raised and an amused smirk on his lips. “What’s this?”

 

“We all four pitched in,” Sera says excitedly. “I got a favor.”

 

“I had the money,” Bull says proudly.

 

“I charmed the blacksmith,” Dorian preens.

 

“And I carried it here,” Blackwall nods.

 

Ewan carefully undoes the clasps and opens the wooden lid. He gasps softly, his expression softening as he stares down at the contents of the box, hidden from most of the rest of the Circle by the lid.

 

“What’s in it?” Cassandra asks, trying not to appear like she’s craning her neck.

 

Ewan slowly lifts his old bow from the box, but its grip has been replaced by a branching mechanism just a hair to the left of center. He glances down at the copper cup on his left arm, which his casual and formal hands lock onto as a base, and finds the mechanism identical.

 

“The hard part was sneakin’ out your freaking hand without you noticing,” Sera laughs proudly as Ewan unclicks his hand from the cup and cautiously moves the bow into place. It slides into the chamber and locks into place with a half-twist, and he raises it, his expression awed and reverent.

 

“You... my bow...” he says dumbly, staring at the sleek wood and taut string. He pulls the string back, pleased by the hum of the sinew in his fingers as he falls arrowless into the familiar stance that he thought he’d forgotten years ago when he’d been forced to put it away. His heart climbs up into his throat and he moves to try his best to embrace all four of them at the same time.

 

Spies slowly begin to trickle into the Emerald Graves in small groups at a time. There is no indication at first that anyone has noticed anything out of the ordinary. The reports show that Solas has many Dalish on his side already, and more are arriving daily.

 

The Inner Circle wait for their orders with baited breath. Sera and Dagna hold tight to each other in the days that come, knowing that those precious moments together might very well be numbered. Dorian and Bull do much the same, when time allows, and Varric and Cassandra keep each other company wherever possible.

 

They make the most of their time with Grace, and for once they aren’t arguing over whether or not she’ll join the Seekers when she’s old enough. They simply watch her grow every day and thank the Maker for the time that they have with her. They don’t bother her with all of the Inquisition’s plans, but she’s smart enough that she picks up on the fact that her parents are counting their days.

 

The startling news comes back that all the eluvians that Solas possesses-- of which there are thirteen-- are kept in the same place. A dangerous move, Cullen pointed out, given how easy it would be to disable them all at once. He didn’t think it like Solas to be so careless with his escape route.

 

Cassandra disagreed. She carefully warned them that if they failed to disable the Eluvians and Solas made it into the room containing them in the old elven ruins that made up his base of operations, it would be nearly impossible to track his next move, as it would have been if the mirrors had all been separated and their subsequent locations beyond accounted for.

 

Ewan noted that keeping all the mirrors in one spot meant that they would be much more heavily guarded, and Cole was sent in to determine if there were any traps or magics put in place to prevent easy entry. When he returned with news of absolutely nothing but a wooden door, Ewan was galled by Solas’ confidence. He seems not to even anticipate any resistance whatsoever.

 

When the spies are in position and the soldiers are closing in with the mages protected in their ranks, the Inner Circle meets one more time for a final, rallying cry from Ewan. They haven’t seen him in that old white dragon scale armor in years, but it still suited him well, especially with his bow attached firmly to his arm, and his enchanted quiver on his back. He mounts his aging hart Shalen, who has seen him through everything over the years, and the rest take up their horses as they ride out towards the Emerald Graves.

 

For the most part, the party is silent as they approach. Ewan rides at the head of the company, as is the tradition, while the rest tag along behind in formation. As they draw nearer, Varric whispers to Cassandra regarding Ewan, and she encourages him to ride ahead of the company to have a talk with their leader.

 

He falls out of formation, trotting his pony past Bull, Dorian, and Sera, who give him looks on his way forward, but he mostly ignores them. His horse falls into pace with Shalen, taking more steps to keep up with the hart’s immense size.

 

“Have a little hope,” Varric says as Ewan gives him a sidelong look. “We might yet make it out of this alive. In particular, you.”

 

“What?” Ewan looks down at Varric on his pony. He’d been deep in thought, going over and over the plan for Solas. Disable the mirrors, trap him, pin him down, stab him until he’s soup. He’d been overthinking, accounting for every single possible error, every possible miscalculation and misstep, but had not expected Varric to show up preaching hope. “Where is this coming from?”

 

“You’ve been walking around in a haze for the last couple of weeks. If you’re thinking you might die on this trip, you’re not alone, but we’ve got to have hope. You survived Corypheus, you can survive some egghead mage, god or not. He can _bleed_ can’t he?”

 

“I don’t actually know,” Ewan admits with a sigh. “I’d never seen him injured before. I should have known, honestly. I remember taking him on every single mission I ever went out on... he was right by my side from the start. But I never saw him seriously injured, or even just scraped up. I guess I must have thought it was his magical barrier protecting him from harm.”

 

He shakes his head and looks up at the sun. They only had a few hours of daylight left. They had figured dusk would be the best time to attack, with the low light, especially with the mages getting ready to cast fog spells to disorient the Dalish armies. If all went well, the spies they’d sent in were already leaving, to prevent unnecessary risk to their lives. It would be hard to tell the unmarked Dalish from their spies, after all.

 

Realizing he’d been lost in thought again, he looks back down at Varric, who is wearing a worried expression. “Why did I take him out on every mission?” he asks, more to the thin air than Varric personally. “He was such an insufferable know-it-all. I feel like... I don’t know. Nevermind.”

 

Varric doesn’t press the subject, afraid that doing so will shove Ewan over some mental barrier and all of the memories of Solas will come crashing back. Now is not the time to go poking old wounds, so to speak.

 

“Just trust in us, Freckles.” Varric says, trying to draw Ewan back out of the fog of thoughts that are drawing him back in. “We’ve got your back.”

 

Ewan smiles down at Varric, feeling a warmth spread in his chest. “I don’t want to die,” he says softly. “I’m just afraid that after this, there will be nothing left for me. After this, the Inquisition will disband, and I don’t know where I’ll go from there. I’ve been doing this for so long. I’m good at it, and I like it. It’s not that I want to die. But imagine the stories that would be told about me if I did,” he gives a bitter chuckle and looks back up at the drooping sun.

 

Varric gives a knowing smile, a measure of that bitterness sinking into the expression. He keeps his eyes on the road and replies: “There are always plenty of things for people like you to do in the world. Whatever happens after this, you’ll have a place. You always will.”

 

“You’re going to write one hell of a book about me, right?” Ewan sneers down at him playfully. “You had better title it something like The Most Badass Inquisitor Who Ever Lived.”

 

“That’s a good title, I’ll keep it in mind. Don’t you worry, you’ll go down in the annals of history. My book likely won’t be the only one written about you.”

 

Ewan sits up a little bit taller at that, keeping his eyes straight ahead even as they draw nearer to their destination. With his confidence somewhat restored, he turns his thoughts to daydreams of the future.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Their rogues are sent in when they near giant territory, with their clouds obscuring them and making them invisible as they bring the gaatlok to where the giants are lounging. At Ewan’s suggestion, the gas is released without setting off the explosions (much to Bull’s disappointment) but it does give them the advantage of maintaining their cover of stealth. Solas likely would have had his guard up earlier if he heard explosions in the distance.

 

His fortress is an admirable one, and it makes Ewan miss Skyhold terribly just looking at it as they approach. They stop when they’re about ten miles out and Ewan turns to address his troops, his message spread through the hundreds where his voice can’t reach. He instructs the soldiers to move in a circle around the ruins, and not to stop until they meet on the other side. Their instructions are then to turn and move towards the castle as one unit, closing their ranks in tighter and tighter until they are an immovable wall of shields and force of will.

 

Ewan will be marching his Inner Circle directly in the front door, as a major distraction from the soldiers closing in around the outside. They will also serve as a distraction for their mages to sneak in with the help of the rogue’s invisible powder, and disable the eluvians while they keep Solas talking.

 

It’s an incredibly risky operation, and hackles are raised all around as they close in towards the ruins. Dalish are already running back towards the castle to report on the approaching small Inquisition party, just as Ewan had planned. The gates are drawn up tight as they reach the wall, but Ewan knows it will only be a matter of time before they’re lowered again. Solas is overconfident, and probably overflowing with villainous swagger and the over-inflated urge to monologue his plans to the hero before carrying them out. He doesn’t order his circle to approach or attack, they just hold their ground.

 

Within minutes, the gates are opened and Ewan marches his circle past the gates. He wants to glance back over his shoulder at the faces of all his closest friends, but he needs to keep up appearances now more than ever. Solas can’t be aware of how deeply he cares, or he’ll use it against him.

 

As the moon rises over the fortress, they enter the courtyard as Dalish soldiers make a show of themselves. Everything seems to be moving slower, as if some time control spell has been cast, but it’s simply an illusion made manifest by the unbelievable moment of tension. It doesn’t pass, but thickens as the Inner Circle moves deeper into the fortress.

 

Many of the Ewan’s circle are looking to him now, holding their breath for the moment they’ve all been waiting for after all of these years. Whether he’ll remember his love for Solas weighs heavily on all of their minds as they make their way forward grimly.

 

Solas is seated in a massive courtyard on a seat carved into the base of one of the massive statues of Fen’Harel. He has an elven child on his knee, but as soon as he sees the approaching Inquisition, he releases the girl and she pads across the courtyard into the arms of her mother. Ewan’s grip tightens on the reins as an indescribable feeling clenches his chest at the sight of Solas with a child. It must have something to do with his fear that Solas will use children against them.

 

He dismounts Shalen, his boots landing heavily on the cobblestones as he lowers himself to Solas’ level. The man is dressed in copper armor and wolf skins, which Ewan guesses has to be blasphemous, and his hands are clasped loosely behind his back.

 

“I’ve been expecting you for some time, now,” he says, wearing a sad smile.

 

“I bet you have,” Ewan growls, suddenly very aware of the weight of his quiver on his back.

 

“I did expect more fanfare,” Solas says, sounding tired and somewhat resigned as he holds his head at a condescending angle, as though he’s just barely amused by his old comrades. “Or did you think you would simply walk in here after all these years and talk me out of my plans? You always did have the highest faith in people.”

 

“You’re not people,” Ewan smirks. Solas’ smile drops.

 

The rest of Ewan’s group dismount their horses. Cassandra and Varric walk side by side, a perhaps subconscious habit they’d grown accustomed to. Bull steps ahead of the band, striding with long legs to stand beside Ewan.

 

“If he will not talk, then we must fight.”

 

“No,” Cassandra says, her voice breaking as he continues. “Solas, you know this is wrong, you must.” Varric shakes his head at his lover’s naivety, she’s still thinking of Solas as they had known him. Talking is behind them now.

 

“Surely Ewan has told you everything by now,” Solas says evenly, turning his gaze to the Seeker.

 

“Ewan?” the Inquisitor snorts. “You still think we’re on a first name basis?”

 

Solas’ confident half-smirk drops once more and his chin lowers, but he doesn’t look angry. If anything, Ewan would say he looks sad. “Very well. Inquisitor Lavellan has informed you about me. He is correct. I am not _people_.”

 

“Ewan already killed one God,” Bull says defiantly, gripping the handle of his axe, though he doesn’t draw it off his back. “What makes you think you’re any different?”

 

“He did not kill a God,” Solas says, his tone firm as he looks from Bull to Ewan. “He killed a Magister Darkspawn playing with toy soldiers. Corypheus was a plaything that got out of hand. Your leader should know better than to get too overconfident.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Ewan growls. How he would love to inform Solas of the plans going around them as they speak, the look on his face would almost be worth it, if he didn’t risk the fate of the entire world for it.

 

“You are trading the destruction of one world to rebuild another, without even considering how everyone else feels about it? How can you so easily toy with the lives of everyone in Thedas? How can you?” Cassandra continues, passionate to change his mind, but Varric strides forward and brushes his fingers against hers.

 

“Let it go. He isn’t one of us anymore,” Varric sets his gaze on Solas, Cassandra pulls her hand away from Varric, frustrated.

 

“How can he do this?” Cassandra demands. “He was one of the founding members of the Inquisition. There was just the seven of us at first, and he let us trust him.”

 

“Cassandra,” Ewan says firmly, holding a hand out to gesture for her to step back. “Do your followers know how you plan to kill them all, Solas?” he tracks the invisible movements of the rogues from the corners of his eyes. All eyes are on him and Solas, exactly where they should be, while silent bare feet pad across the cobblestones behind the group.

 

“They know I will lead them to salvation,” Solas says evenly. “A place where they will be safe from the flood.”

 

“So you’re just putting the lives of all these elves over the rest of the world? What gives you the right?” Ewan growls.

 

“It is all I have ever done,” Solas answers. “You should know this, vhenan.”

 

The word hits Ewan like a slap in the face, steals all the breath from his chest. He feels suddenly very cold and ill, and he takes a step back, shaking his head slowly. “What did you just call me?”

 

“It’s time for you to shut up,” Bull says, getting defensive now as he draws his weapon to ready himself. The others follow suit, reading themselves to defend Ewan should something come of this. Solas meanwhile stands with his head cocked at an angle that tells that he is confused and perhaps quietly hurt that Ewan does not recognize his feelings.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” Varric hisses, leaving Cassandra’s side to be at Ewan’s. He catches the reeling Inquisitor and holds him steady. “He’ll say anything to win you over-- he’s a snake.”

 

Ewan’s confused expression melts into startled and then pitying, bitter laughter as he takes a step forward again to make up to ground he’d lost. “What the fuck,” he shakes his head. “Are you serious? How strung out are you that you’re coming on to me now of all times?”

 

Solas’ frown deepens. “I know you must be hurt, vhenan, but if you would--”

 

“Stop calling me that!” Ewan shouts, his voice echoing through the courtyard. “You can keep your creepy pet names and weird crushes to yourself.”

 

“I was not lying when I said it was real,” Solas says, sounding genuinely hurt. Something behind Ewan’s eyes throbs, and he shakes his head, grinding the heel of one hand into his temple.

 

“Shut up!” he staggers forward, his bow swinging at the end of his arm unsteadily.

 

“Listen to reason--” Solas doesn’t step back even as Ewan takes another shaky step forward. He throws his hand back to stop his circle when they start to advance behind their leader, and they freeze in place, uncertain.

 

“Solas, don’t do this,” Dorian says lowly. “You don’t know what you’re about to cause.”

 

“Vhenan,” Solas whispers, taking a step forward, ignoring Dorian completely. Ewan feels frozen to the spot, his breathing ragged and sharp in his lungs. Every one of his muscles feels tight, drawn up and ready to attack, trembling as Solas reaches out and touches his face. “Ir abelas ma vhenan.”

 

“ _No!”_ Ewan slaps Solas right across the face. Sera squeals in laughter, and Solas staggers only a half-step back, his eyes going dark and pained.

 

“I understand,” he says lowly, as the Dalish start to close in with bows drawn and staffs and swords raised. “I am sorry that I hurt you by leaving. I warned you I was selfish. I wasn’t wrong.”

 

Ewan screams as something sparks behind his eyes like an earthquake. He staggers to one knee, and shouts for his party to stay where they are in a pained howl. He checks his face for blood, the pain is so blinding he thinks he must have taken an arrow to the forehead, but he finds none. He squints up at Solas, the waning sunlight and building moonlight create a halo effect around him as he stands over Ewan.

 

“Get the hell away from him,” Varric hisses, taking a step forward toward Solas. He brandishes Bianca, her blade gleaming frostily in the waning light of day. The Dalish are advancing, meanwhile the rogues still work unseen. The party is confused, torn between following orders and the urge to protect their leader at all costs.

 

“Get back!” Ewan throws his hand back, grimacing through the pain. He glares up at Solas, gritting his teeth. “What did you do to me?”

 

Solas stares down at Ewan for a moment before glancing back up at his party, at his old allies. He notices Cole ducking his head, shaking and shifting his weight. “Perhaps you should ask Cole,” he offers.

 

“He told me to!” Cole’s voice is trembling. “I had to, I had no choice!”

 

“I see,” Solas takes a knee, unbothered by the drawn weapons of the Inquisition, and he takes the shaking shoulders of the Inquisitor. Ewan looks up at him with those crystalline blue eyes he’d missed so terribly, brimming with tears of pain and confusion, clouded with fear and the thin veil of magic Cole had set in place. He wipes the back of his knuckles over Ewan’s forehead and drops the curtain, and the resulting ambush of old thoughts and memories and emotions has Ewan screaming and screaming.

 

“Enough of this!” Bull raises his axe and takes a single step forward. Solas’ eyes flash and Bull freezes a half second later, a perfect statue of granite. Dorian gives a horrified, anguished cry and rushes forward, dropping his staff to embrace Bull, as if just by touching him his hands could reverse the magic.

 

“Solas,” Ewan chokes, his whole body shaking and slumped with pain. He remembers everything now, it’s flooding him like Solas plans to do to the whole world. He remembers Cole’s warning, comparing this to the destruction of Haven, but he won’t let that happen. He squeezes Solas’ arm, and shakes his head, tears running from his burning eyes. “Don’t.”

 

Solas looks down at Ewan with a sigh, and closes his eyes as he rests his nose in his hair. He’d almost forgotten the smell of these blond locks. His eyelids flash and Bull is returned to them, eyes wide and breath shuddering. His axe drops heavily to the stones and his knees fail him. Dorian lowers him to sit, shaking like a lamb, babbling at him in Tevene, touching his face and his horns and his shoulders and chest, smoothing hands over warm skin and scar tissue.

 

Cole crumples in on himself, shaking with fear and the idea that he’s somehow failed his friend. Varric goes to comfort him, the young man curls himself around the dwarf as best as he can. Cassandra is at once lost and raring to destroy Solas, but she’s seen what he can do with but a thought and thinks twice of lunging at him as she watches Bull who is still recovering from the shock of not existing for several seconds.

 

“Now's when we kill him, innit? He’s caused enough trouble! I say we waste him.” Sera draws her bow and pulls an arrow, preparing to fire, fearless in the face of what Solas can do.

 

“Don’t!” Ewan’s voice croaks out of him, a wounded sound. Her arrow flies, and Ewan screams as pain pierces his shoulder. Solas whispers apologies and turns the arrow to dust where it had embedded in Ewan’s back, but everyone had seen the way he’d moved the limp body of the Inquisitor in front of him to shield himself.

 

“You freakin’ arse bag!” Sera howls.

 

“You can’t do this,” Ewan whispers to Solas, sweat beading on his brow. “You know you can’t.”

 

“I have to,” he whispers back. Ewan feels wrong when Solas’ lips press against his in a kiss that feels deeply familiar and completely repulsive at once. He whimpers in discomfort and with an unseen motion of Solas’ hand, the Dalish descend.

 

Varric and Cole leave the embrace of one another. The dwarf backpedals to get a good distance between himself and the advancing Dalish before he fires off the first bolt. Sera does much the same, putting distance between herself and the army.

 

Bull roars to life, using all of his anger to fuel an assault. He whips around with his ax and takes out two of the Dalish who fall in a crumpled heap under the mighty weight of his weapon. Dorian flashes to life, his spells cutting through the elves with all of the fearsome wrath and anguish he’d felt moments before.

 

Cassandra rushes to Ewan’s side, swiping a Dalish across the belly on her way. “You have to get up!” She roars. “Get up and fight!”

 

Solas helps Ewan to his feet as Cassandra spins back into the fray. It seems there is a magical barrier between them and the rest of the fighting raging around them. The soldiers have descended from all sides, pouring into the ruins like insects, but no swords or arrows come within feet of the pair.

 

“Is this it, then?” Solas says, his voice is quiet but Ewan still clearly hears him over the war waging around them on all sides.

 

“I don’t know,” Ewan whispers, gripping Solas’ arm with his right hand. Everything feels shaky. He feels sick, exhausted, and consumed with the simultaneous and soul-deep desire to stay right by Solas’ side, and the gut-wrenching need to get far away from him.

 

“You know I have to do this,” Solas tells him quietly, reaching up to wipe tears from Ewan’s burning cheeks.

 

Ewan shakes his head, desperately, and he takes a shaking step back, his head swimming. “You don’t,” he gasps. “Even if you do wipe the world clean, there’s no guarantees the next world will be better than this one. It could be a thousand times worse. Nothing is ever so far gone that it isn’t worth trying to save.”

 

“Is that how you feel about me, vhenan?”

 

Ewan gives a shuddering sob and draws an arrow from his quiver, nocking it to his bow and drawing it back to point at Solas. His fingers tremble, his whole body quakes, but he can’t release the shaft, even as he begins to hyperventilate with grief. Solas stands perfectly still, unafraid of Ewan’s bolt. Still the fighting does not come close to them.

 

“Look around you,” Solas gestures to the fighting. The dying screams of Dalish men, women and children ring through the ruin. “Is this what stopping me is worth to you?”

 

“I would kill a million to save two million!” Ewan shouts, his voice raw and anguished. “You would have me let you kill them all, everyone on the planet, everyone in every species, but you think you can make me feel guilt for these few thousand Dalish?”

 

“Do you not feel guilt?” Solas asks evenly, digging directly into Ewan’s heart in that way he always did. Ewan didn’t realize just how long he’d been bleeding out from this wolf’s claws.

 

“Of course I do!” he sobs, and woman’s scream pierces the night somewhere behind him.

 

Varric can see Ewan and Solas talking, can see their mouths moving when he looks over after spearing a Dalish through the neck with one of his well aimed bolts. He feels so helpless now, he can’t reach Ewan to guide him through this, it’s all he can do to keep fighting.

 

And everyone else is in the same state of mind. They reeve through the Dalish, fighting because they don’t know what else they can do. This is one battle that Ewan must fight for himself.

 

The Dalish numbers thin out with the soldiers’ assistance, dropping like stones while the Inquisition’s forces blockage the wide open courtyard from all sides. The mages and rogues return to the fray moments later, signaling that the eluvians are disabled, and the fight is even more swiftly outmatched with four Inquisition agents to every one Dalish.

 

Solas realizes they’re losing with a flash of something almost like panic in his eyes as the last Dalish falls, and every sword, staff and bow in the ruin turns to him. “Enough!” he shouts, and both his hands sweep out over the yard. A powerful magic sweeps across the courtyard and everyone is frozen in place, not turned to stone, but frozen nevertheless, eyes wide and staring at the pair in the middle of the yard.

 

Ewan can tell instantly that he isn’t frozen, but even faced with Solas now, he can’t let his arrow fly. Shaking and gasping for breath, he lowers his arrow, and then drops it to the stones. He knows now why he’d asked Cole to hide these feelings. Had he been veiled still, he might have been able to let his arrow fly and end this. He feels so weak, so helpless in the face of this man who he loves and hates in equal measures.

 

The battlefield falls to eery silence as the entirety of the Inquisition forces freeze. Swords point frostily in the moonlight, bowstrings are drawn taut and arrows are held at point. For now it is only Solas and Ewan who even draw breath, the rest are suspended by the magic of the Dread Wolf, unable to speak or move to aid their Inquisitor in his time of need.

 

The silence lingers for several seconds, neither Ewan nor Solas move as Ewan takes in the gravity of his situation. He has to kill Solas. It’s not optional. He can’t change his mind, that much the elf-- wolf-- god-- has made abundantly clear. He lifts his arrow again, drawing back his bow, and he lets the arrow fly.

 

It dissolves into dust the second it touches Solas’ chest, sprinkling into sand on the cobblestones. Ewan gives an anguished cry, locking his knees to keep from collapsing. He nocks a second arrow, and a third, but each one meets the same fate against Solas’ immovable chest. He doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Why,” Ewan gasps out when the strength has left him to draw another arrow.

 

“You know why,” Solas says softly.

 

“You want to rebuild the world with nothing but elves,” Ewan’s voice is shuddering out of him like he’s being shaken violently. “You think humans and dwarves and qunari are worthless. You only ever loved me because I’m an elf. If I had been any other species you wouldn’t have batted an eye to kill me.”

 

“Vhenan--”

 

“Don’t you vhenan me!” Ewan’s voice cracks and moonlight illuminates fresh tears. “You were going to kill me anyway. So kill me, then. If you were ready to kill me with the rest of the world, what’s stopping you now? Is this just your selfishness again? It makes it easier for you to sleep at night if someone else kills me?”

 

He wrenches his bow from the socket of his arm, and drops it to the ground. “I’m unarmed,” he shouts, yanking his quiver from his back and spilling arrows on the ground. “My armies are frozen. There’s nothing stopping you Solas.”

 

Ewan’s forces remain infuriatingly silent, still frozen by Solas’ spell. Should he will it, every one of them could become nothing but statues, left to rot in what little time this world has left. Their stillness only reminds Ewan of the hopelessness of the situation, of the futility of fighting a god.

 

“Come with me,” Solas says a moment later, his voice hushed and echoing.

 

Ewan is startled into stillness, mirroring his friends as he reels under the weight of this offer. His voice is hoarse and it feels dead in his throat when he whispers, “What?”

 

“It was never my intention to let you die,” Solas says a moment later. “From the start I had planned to take you with me. You are elven, you are worthy, you are my love. Come with me, I will take you to our sanctuary and we can rebuild the world together.”

 

Ewan shakes his head slowly, panting as he backs up in horror. “ _Worthy?”_ he repeats in a dull croak. He can’t even find the words to articulate how disgusted he is. His tears have all dried up, it seems. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he says, his voice tight with the regret crippling him for ever loving this man.

 

Solas sighs, his shoulders dropping, and he tilts his head with that familiar, sad, puppy-dog smile that had Ewan falling for him in the first place. “Vhenan,” his brows draw up and he shakes his head as he smiles at Ewan like he’s just an unruly child. “It wasn’t a request.”

 

Cassandra panics at hearing Solas’ words, but there is nothing she can do to stop whatever is going to come next. It’s the worst feeling in the world for all of them, looking on without being able to do anything about the events that transpire.

 

Sera is turned the other direction, struggling desperately against the magic that won’t even let her blink. She wants to scream,but her teeth are frozen shut, she wants to put an arrow right in the neck of that furry bald plonker, protect the Inquisitor, protect the whole world full of people who’ve done nothing to deserve Solas’ wrath.

 

Dorian, his back frozen against Bull’s, a fireball still suspended in midair, has found the will to cry, tears slipping silently from frozen eyes as he stares forward at the last Dalish left alive, crumpled on the ground, illuminated by the fireball just inches from him, close enough that he can still feel the heat. Dorian is awash with guilt, and deep, gut-clenching fear for his best friend.

 

Bull is roaring, in his mind. He can’t move a muscle, he’s never felt so helpless, even when he’d been stone he at least wasn’t aware of it. This is torture, and looking on at the shaking and vulnerable form of Ewan only makes him more furious. If anybody in the world deserved the least to be tricked by Solas, it was Ewan. Solas never should have gone anywhere near the Inquisitor’s heart, he was too good for Solas even when he was just a barefooted nymph playing in the woods.

 

Blackwall is staring down a knife of one of the eluvian’s guards, as close to his nose as his blade is to the Dalish’s belly. He’d never had this long to consider death before, he’d always thought it would be instant, but the second this magic falls that knife could hit him square in the eye if he doesn’t move fast enough. He has to be aware, he has to not be distracted by the shaking and golden form of Ewan, trembling and illuminated by moonlight.

 

Cole is frozen in midair, where he’d been jumping down off a pillar he’d been throwing knives from. He’s suspended in midair, formless, it seems. He can’t even sense feelings like this. He feels closed off, sheltered against his will in his own body, trapped and beating at the walls of his mind. But he doesn’t need to sense Ewan’s feelings to know what they are. He’s never seen anybody in such pain before.

 

Vivienne’s coat is twirled out around her in immaculate waves, its high threadcount gleaming and meaningless in the starlight. She feels an enraged shout at the base of her throat, but it won’t come, even as she fights the magic with all her might. She can’t cast if she can’t move. She says a silent prayer that Ewan will find a way out of this.

 

Across the courtyard, Varric can hear what they are saying only by the way their voices echo in the quiet. By the sound of it, he’s planning to take Ewan with him no matter what, and there will be nothing that they can do about it. The Inquisition will fall apart without him.

 

“I see,” Ewan’s voice trembles and carries across the courtyard. Slowly, he bends down to remove his knife from his boot. He holds it out with his arm shaking, pointed right at Solas, should he try to lunge for him. His heart is breaking, but in a way, it almost feels good. He’s spent so long lying to himself about Solas, lying to everyone else, he’d even tortured Cole with the last five years of his lies. “I’m your excuse.”

 

“What?” Solas frowns.

 

“I’m the reason you feel comfortable doing this,” Ewan sobs bitterly. “You could slaughter millions if you had your _vhenan_ to come back to so you could justify your genocide in my arms. Anyone could die as long as I lived, is that it? To start the _new world_ with you?”

 

“Ewan--”

 

“No!” Ewan’s voice splinters and he gives a moan of fear and anguish. “No. I will not be your apocalyptic justification, Solas! I will not be your excuse!”

 

Varric fights the enchantment binding him so hard that it hurts him straight down to his bones. He looks as far as he can to see if the others are struggling as well, but they are as still as the stone statues of the Qunari that they’d left behind long ago. He tries to scream, but no sound leaves his lips.

 

Inwardly, Cole is falling apart. If he hadn’t taken Ewan’s memory, he might have been able to work through things himself. He could have helped him heal in different ways, but it’s too late now.

 

“Ewan, you must know by now you can’t kill me,” Solas says, his tone sickeningly kind.

 

“I know,” Ewan says quietly, shaking his head. “I know."

 

In a flash, he twirls the knife in his hand so it’s pointed directly at him instead, and he plunges the knife into the center of his chest. The pain is so great he nearly blacks out on contact, unable to take a breath as his legs fail him and he stumbles.

 

 

_“NO!”_

 

 

In his anguish, Solas’ magic slips and chaos breaks out around them as he shoots forward and catches Ewan as he falls. He lowers him gently to the ground and rips away the knife even as blood runs down Ewan’s body and streams from his mouth. His hand glows green and he rests it over the wound, but Ewan is already choking and going cold.

 

“You don’t deserve a happy ending,” Ewan chokes out as the Inner Circle closes in like a pack of wolves.

 

The Inquisitor is already stilled in Solas’ arms by the time they circle around him. Solas doesn’t even lift his head to look at them, his gaze focused down on the limp Inquisitor. The way his eyes have closed in peace, pale lashes flecked with dark blood, lips stained dark, like the first time Ewan drank wine with him and they laughed at the way their teeth turned red. He feels something building at the base of his throat, and he realizes as soon as the first drop falls that it’s tears. They streak through the blood on Ewan’s face and neck.

 

The Circle is frozen again, but this time not by magic. The unrealness of the situation has washed over them, leaving them feeling heavy and weightless, agonized and numb. Still, Solas does not lift his head to address them, even as Cassandra slowly circles around behind him.

 

“Look what you’ve done!” Cassandra roars, her own voice foreign in her ears as her voice breaks. “Are you satisfied now?! He is dead because of _you!”_

 

“No,” Solas says softly. His voice is remarkably bereft of emotion even as tears drip off his nose and land on Ewan’s lips. “I suppose this was inevitable."

 

“You’re a bastard!” Sera spits, pure bile tainting her voice.

 

“It isn’t too late to change your plans, for him,” Dorian says past Sera’s outburst. “You don’t have to do this.”

 

Solas remains silent. He brushes a tear from Ewan’s lip. He can already feel his heart frosting over in that familiar way it does. He doesn’t want to stop loving Ewan, but he knew their time would be short no matter what, with Ewan’s mortality. He sighs deeply, but doesn’t address any of the people standing around him.

 

Cassandra looks up and makes eye contact with Varric. The dwarf gives a single, slow nod as he looks up at her. Gritting her teeth, she thrusts her sword with all her might through Solas’ chest. He gasps in surprise, pain clenching up his voice. Blackwall draws his sword next and finds a spot to stab, his sword sheathed through Solas' stomach. Sera and Cole whip out their daggers and plant them in his shoulders and chest, Vivienne and Dorian lift their staves and rain down lightning and fire, Bull swings his axe and nearly cleaves him in two, and Varric fires bolts faster than his fingers can keep up with them.

 

But despite the carnage, not a sound leaves the Inner Circle’s lips as they tear into Solas like vultures. Nothing is left behind but a shredded body by the time they’re pulling Ewan out of the puddles. 


	7. Chapter 7

Cole and Dorian are crying openly as they pull Ewan aside. His body moves limp and lifeless as Bull carries him away from the carnage of battle. He’s lain out on the ground and the Inner Circle gather around to pay their last respects to their leader.

 

“He did what he thought was right.” Cassandra says grimly, tears shaking her voice. “True to the last.”

 

“To think,” Varric says, laughing bitterly, “I told him to have a little hope that he’d leave here alive.”

 

Vivienne uses a simple water spell to wash him off until he’s clean, slumped up against Bull’s chest, looking as much like he’s sleeping as anything.

 

“I may be able to help him,” Dorian says suddenly, looking up at Cole. “But I’ll need your help, as well as yours,” his eyes shift to Varric.

 

“My help?” Cole looks up through watery eyes. “What can I do? This is my fault, I’ve done enough damage.”

 

“Cole,” Dorian snaps. “This could bring him back.”

 

“That sounds like blood magic,” Blackwall narrows his eyes suspiciously.

 

“It’s not!” Dorian yells. “Would you rather just let him die for that monster? I know a way that might save him!”

  
  
Varric is hesitant, but he comes forward. He takes Cole by the arm and leads him forward. “If we can help him we will--as long as . . . you can promise he comes back himself. No zombie shit.”

 

Dorian gives a short, bitter laugh. “No zombie shit,” he promises. “There might be... a few conditions. But nothing we couldn’t handle.”

 

“Conditions?” Cassandra repeats fiercely, close to drawing her blade on Dorian himself.

 

“It’s not exactly simple to bring people back from the dead!” Dorian defends. “But I for one am willing to try, unless you’d rather this be his legacy!”

 

Just as he gestures spitefully towards Solas’ crumpled body, a shining green light emits from every wound on his body. Sera curses softly, already taking her knives out again, but as they watch for any sign of movement from the fallen God, before their very eyes his body shrivels and shrinks until nothing but his clothes remain on the bloody ground.

 

“Is that it?” Sera lowers her knives.

 

“What in Andraste’s name was--” Blackwall starts, but they’re cut off by a soft yipping sound, and the pile of furs begins to move.

 

Cole steps forward and pulls aside the fur to reveal a tiny wolf puppy. He looks up at the rest of his party with an expression of confusion as he lifts the pup into his arms.

 

“What are you doing?” Vivienne snaps upright. “Kill the thing.”

 

“It’s just a baby,” Cole says protectively, turning partially to shield the pup with his body.

 

“You don’t know that,” Cassandra says, drawing her sword once more.

 

“So much for the dread wolf,” Varric cracks, covering for his nerves. Cassandra shoots him a sharp look over her shoulder and turns back to Cole.

 

“We have to kill it. It may turn into something worse later.”

 

Bull scoffs, “It’s just a dog. What can a dog do?”

 

“If we kill it, he’ll just regenerate again,” Blackwall says as he approaches Cole. Bull clutches Ewan tighter, and glances over to Dorian, whose attention is captured by the staredown Vivienne is giving Cole. “If we take him into custody like this, he’ll be easy to maintain.”

 

“Clearly he can’t be killed by conventional means,” Dorian says after a moment. “But there will be plenty of time to fuss about what to do with him once you get back to the castle.”

 

“You?” Sera repeats, sheathing her knives.

 

“Varric, Cole and I will have to return to Skyhold,” Dorian says resolutely.

 

“Skyhold?” Cole looks up from where he’d been petting the squirming puppy. “That’s days away. How do we keep Ewan from... you know.”

 

“I’ll take care of that,” Dorian takes a moment to concentrate, as ice magic doesn’t come as naturally to him, but in just moments, Ewan’s body is frozen solid. He removes his cloak and with a little help from Blackwall and Bull, he’s wrapped up from head to toe. “Cassandra, I do believe this event puts you in charge temporarily. Try not to spread the word of his death, it may not be necessary. You will be the first to know if we fail.”

 

“I’ll lead the troops back the Winter Palace and report that the mission was successful.” Cassandra says, looking over at Cole who is holding the puppy in his arms. “We will make camp for the night, but you should travel as soon as you can to prevent any further damage to Ewan. I do not know what you are planning, but I hope it works.”

 

She walks over to kiss Varric, who returns her love and asks her to tell Grace he’ll be home soon. Cole hands the puppy off to Sera who takes him with a laugh as he licks her face. They’ll find a way to restrain him temporarily.

 

The three of them start off with Ewan’s body, each trying not to acknowledge the very real possibility that whatever Dorian’s plan is might fail and they may never see Ewan again.

 

 

  
=====

 

 

 

The silence that follows the trio over the next several miles is deafening. They walk in silence, each of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, until dawn breaks and they pause in exhaustion for just long enough to be reminded that there are others moving with them who are also in mourning.

 

“Why are we going back to Skyhold?” Cole finally asks as they pull the cart with Ewan’s wrapped and frozen body on it. Shalen is following hesitantly behind them by several yards, clearly at a loss for what to do.

 

“We need to go to a place with a very high concentration of memories,” Dorian explains, his voice tired and bereft of the light it usually carries. “Specifically, memories about Ewan. I can think of no place better, can you?”

 

Varric adjusts Bianca so she’s settled more evenly over his broad back and he gives Dorian a sidelong glance, “Why do you need memories? You said it wasn’t blood magic, so what kind of magic is it?”

 

Dorian is silent for a bit, struggling with how to explain it. He senses that neither Cole nor Varric will be pleased to hear what he has planned, given the events that just took place, but it would be worse to lie to them.

 

“It’s Fade magic,” he finally says. Cole stops walking completely.

 

“Fade magic? That’s dangerous!” Cole says, freezing up so thoroughly that the cart stops moving. Varric tries to console him with a hand to his arm, but Cole shies away. Varric turns his gaze to Dorian and in a resigned voice asks:

 

“What does it involve exactly? Are we selling our souls to demons or what?”

 

“No,” Dorian says irritably. “We will have to enter the Fade--”

 

“No,” Cole gasps, taking a step back, looking like he wants to run in the other direction. “No, I can’t go back, I don’t want to go back there, it was death, death and despair and sadness and misery and you can’t escape the pain--”

 

“Cole, I _need_ you,” Dorian says, gripping the young man’s forearm. “You’re the only one out of the three of us who actually went to the Fade with Ewan all those years ago. It was you and Cassandra and Solas, and Cassandra can’t do the things you can do. Ewan’s survival depends on you.”

 

“I was the one who killed him!” Cole wails, jerking at Dorian’s strong grip.

 

“Hey, hey kid . . .” Varric starts in a gentle voice, taking Cole’s other hand as he writhes in Dorian’s grip. “You’ve got to calm down. This doesn’t mean you’re going back forever, just for a little while until we can get Ewan back. We have to try, for him. We have to fix this, make him better.”

 

“And you won’t be going there physically, this time,” Dorian says, reassuring the frightened young man. “I don’t know how to do that, and I don’t think it would do us any good, anyway, to leave a door open to get back out through. We don’t want to be responsible for a repeat of the Conclave, after all. We’ll be going there by traditional means, just by sleeping.”

 

“Why do you know Fade magic, anyway?” Cole demands, finally yanking his hands from the grip of the two men, and clutching his wrists to his chest possessively. “Solas was the Fade Mage.”

 

“I started to study after we lost him,” Dorian says, taking up the cart again and starting to pull, hoping at the very least that Cole would follow behind, even at a distance. “For the last seven years I’ve been studying Fade Magic. When combined with Necromancy, it can lead to some very powerful magics. Not many people have been able to study the effects of their combination because Fade Magic is still such a new concept.”

 

Varric takes the other side of the cart and starts to pull as well. After a moment or two, Cole begins to follow quietly and reluctantly. He’s still shaking when Varric breaks the short silence that has settled between the three of them. “So what do you need me for? Dwarves can’t access the Fade through dreams . . .”

 

“You’ll be going there... a little more physically,” Dorian says with a sigh. “I can’t bring your body there, and you can’t come through your dreams, but... there are certain psychedelics that can open pathways. You’d be scarcely more than a spirit form, but all we’d need is your voice. Ewan trusts you more than anybody in the entire world. Hearing your voice alone might be enough to call him back to us.”

 

“So I’m going to be off my tits?” Varric laughs. “How am I going to be of any use if I’m chasing giant nugs in la la land?”

 

“I would appreciate it if you would take this a little seriously,” Dorian bites out. “The psychedelics will temporarily enable you to dream. You’ll be unconscious through the majority of the trip, the... la la won’t hit you until after you’ve woken up.”

 

Dorian’s words hit him like a ton of bricks. Varric swallows down the lump in his throat and suddenly he feels the entire weight of the situation bearing down on him, and for once he actually apologizes for his sarcasm. “I’m sorry.”

 

Dorian senses his crumpling, and sighs, stopping the cart for a moment so he can rest a hand on Varric’s shoulder. “I’m sorry as well,” he admits, looking back at Cole, who is following closer to Shalen than to them, trying to comfort the confused animal. “I’m often jealous of your relationship with Ewan. He’s always been so close to you in ways I could never manage, no matter how many times he insisted we were best friends, I just...” he shakes his head and drops his hand. “I’m quite upset. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I probably will continue to do so, however, so feel free to tell me to button up if I get too harsh again.”

 

Varric shakes his head, “Naw, sometimes I can get too caught up in the ‘cool headed rogue’ act and not realize when I need to shut my mouth. Right now though, we both need to keep our cool for Cole’s sake. He’s sensitive to emotions, so we need to try to keep it together for him,” He pats Dorian on the arm and smiles. “As far as Ewan goes, he loves you more than you can know. Maybe he never wanted to bother you with things because you had your own share of problems. Who knows-- maybe you’ll get to argue with him about it soon.”

 

“I’m going to _kick his ass_ for this,” Dorian gives a trembling laugh as they begin to pull the cart again. “Ugh. It worked, though. His little martyr plan. He’s going to be so smug about that.”

 

“No he won’t,” Cole says quietly from behind them. Dorian doesn’t even have the strength to playfully bicker anymore.

 

Their journey to Skyhold is mostly silent. None of them want to stop moving, so they take turns draping themselves over Shalen’s neck to rest and sleep while the other two continue pulling the cart. They all reason that they’ll have plenty of time to sleep once they get to Skyhold and enter the Fade.

 

Dorian is pleased to find some of the ingredients he’ll need to blend the psychadelics along the way. He’s confident that the rest of the ingredients will still be found in the garden within Skyhold. The place wasn’t abandoned, after all, the Inquisition’s headquarters simply moved. It had since become a center for trade, and some people had started using it as the new Temple of Sacred Ashes, treating it as a pilgrimage that would bring them closer to the Maker.

 

The hardest part will be getting into Skyhold with Ewan’s body without starting a panic about the Inquisitor being dead. Ideally, they would be best suited to use the old throneroom, but a room like that is probably being used publicly for other things, and it would be impossible for them to fall asleep there with the people all around them. They’ll need to use Ewan’s bedroom and hopefully locate an old memory of him within those walls that won’t be too lewd. It’ll be much easier to clear out on Inquisition orders and barricade so they aren’t disturbed.

 

They manage to pick enough herbs and grasses to mostly hide Ewan’s wrapped body, or at least make him look like an addition bundle of supplies. They enter with claims that they’re here to gather some old supplies for Inquisition business, and they aren’t met with any resistance whatsoever. They find Ewan’s bedroom is being used for storage, which suits them just fine, and they blockade the stairs so nobody can disturb them once Dorian has gathered all the supplies they need.

 

He sets to unwrapping and defrosting Ewan’s body. Thankfully, Solas had healed his wound shortly before he died, so they won’t have to waste any time fixing his body before attempting to revive it.

 

“We won’t have much time,” Dorian says as he begins to make the psychedelic that Varric will need to use. “We’ll only have about six hours before Ewan’s body will stiffen naturally, and we don’t want to welcome him back in that fashion, things will get complicated. Thankfully, time passes differently in the Fade, so we should have several days to locate him once we’re in, should we need it. I doubt we will.”

 

Cole takes a seat beside Ewan’s body and fiddles with strands of his hair, which are slightly damp from thawing. The kid looks worried, Varric can’t help but notice, and if he’s honest with himself, he’s anxious about all of this too. The Dwarf sits on Ewan’s other side and watches Dorian work.

 

“Any advice for what we’re about to encounter?” Varric asks as he shrugs out of his coat and settles it in a bundle on the floor, it’ll make a nice pillow when the time comes.

 

“I’ve only been to the Fade a couple times, myself,” Dorian says hesitantly. “It’s different every time. If all goes well, it’ll be like we never left this room. We can’t cause a fuss, or we’ll attract the attention of demons. There’s a chance demons have already sensed the death of the Inquisitor and are moving in on him to corrupt. The death of somebody so influential, especially in the Fade, _especially_ with the added death of Solas, regeneration notwithstanding, it’s bound to drum up some nasty customers.”

 

“More demons . . .” Varric says, his voice tired and ragged. He looks across at Cole, who is pointedly looking away from either of his companions. The dwarf stretches and yawns, at least he’s ready to sleep. They all are. He just hopes this psychedelic will work and allow him to access the Fade like any human or elf.

 

Dorian sighs, his pistil drooping. “The hardest part will be informing and then convincing Ewan that he’s died,” he says, before lifting it again and continuing to grind together the ingredients. “I doubt he’ll take it well. That’s why he’ll need you, Varric. You should be able to keep him calm. This will be an echo of Ewan, a version of him in the past, it may even be a memory of him from before he knew Solas’ true nature. It will benefit us to give as little information as possible towards his death, and try not to bring up Solas at all.”

 

“Lie to him,” Cole says coldly.

 

“If lying to him is what it takes to bring him back, then color me a pathological liar,” Dorian says, his tone matching Cole’s in iciness. “I’ll do whatever it takes to correct this. Your help will come in the form of locating other spirits who could help us. Spirits of compassion, guidance, forgiveness, acceptance. Anybody you can find who would be able to help us. One of them may take pity on Ewan and bind to him the same way you did to Cole.”

 

“He would be like me?” Cole looks up, making eye contact for the first time in days.

 

“Maybe. I’m not sure. There’s a lot of variables,” Dorian says hesitantly.

 

“You’re talking about merging Ewan with another spirit?” Varric says, his tone somewhat panicked as he recalls others, particularly Anders, who had struggled with such things. It isn’t a life he’s sure Ewan would want. “He won’t be himself then, will he? He’ll be . . . different.”

 

“I’m not saying it _will_ happen,” Dorian says testily. “Only that it _could_. Having other positive spirits on our side will help us ward off demons and negative spirits which could damage or destroy Ewan’s presence. It won’t be my fault if one of them is so moved by him that it decides to hitch a ride on the way out. Besides, that might be the least of our concerns if--” he sighs heavily and pauses in his grinding to rub tiredly at his eyes. “Nevermind. It won’t do us any good to focus on all the ways we could fail. I’d much rather at least pretend to be optimistic.”

 

“You’re right of course,” Varric admits in a tight voice as he tries very hard not to think about what might go wrong in the Fade. “With the events of the last couple of days, we’re all a little bit tired and anxious about what might happen--but we have to have hope. For Ewan’s sake.”

 

“You’re not saying something,” Cole says. His voice sounds aggressive. “You’re hiding something. Something bad. I can see it in the back of your mind, you were hoping I wouldn’t notice, hoping I wouldn’t speak up--”

 

“Cole,” Dorian’s voice stutters a bit.

 

“It’s something very bad, very bad and selfish,” he’s up on his knees now, leaning out over Ewan like a protective dog.

 

“Cole, please, I’m only trying to help,” Dorian backs up a few inches.

 

“Dead is better than that!” Cole argues, reaching out to slap the mixture out of Dorian’s hands, but the mage hugs it protectively to his chest and lurches out of reach.

 

Varric leans out over Ewan’s body and tries to get Cole to settle down. The dwarf is on the verge of shouting at him at this point, but he remains cool headed despite the urge. “Cole, _calm down_.”

 

When the young man eventually relents and takes his seat again, drawing all his limbs in so he’s sitting curled up with his hat obscuring most of his face, Varric sighs and addresses Dorian, “What is he talking about? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

 

Dorian stammers for a few moments, struggling for words, clutching the mixture in his lap. “Well it’s just-- as I said, there are a lot of unknown variables, and-- well, it depends. A lot of things could go wrong.”

 

“If Dorian takes death from Ewan now he might never get it back,” Cole says ghostily, rocking himself gently as he fights the urge to flee. Maybe he should flee. Maybe he should run and never look back. If they can’t do this without him, maybe it would be better if he just ran. Could he condemn his friend to death like that? He’s already dead, would it really be his fault?

 

Varric sits back down and it feels like all of the wind has been knocked out of him. Honestly he’s seen enough in his time--zombies, demons, dragons, giants--this shouldn’t phase him, but that doesn’t stop his lungs from feeling as though they’ve collapsed. When he regains his composure, he looks down at Ewan’s body, which thanks to Dorian’s magic looks as though he is simply sleeping.

 

“He’ll be immortal? You’re joking.”

 

“It’s only a possibility!” Dorian nearly shouts. “That will depend on Ewan. How... badly he wants to return. He may not want to come back with us at all. In that case, if we force it, he could come back terminally ill. Fade magic is very testy and difficult to work with, and combined with Necromancy it can get... volatile. The Fade has a mind of its own, it’s very complicated magic. I haven’t been studying it for _several thousand years_ like Solas has,” his voice goes bitter and sharp at the end. “Either way it would be a better idea not to mention it to Ewan. I’d rather he not go flinging himself off any balconies trying to test his potential immortality.”

 

“You’re right,” Varric says grimly, remembering so many years ago the Inquisitor’s desire to fling himself from the highest point when Solas had first left him. It’s probably best not to engender those sorts of ideas. “Let’s just all try and relax before we have to go to sleep. I doubt walking into the fade strung out on stress is going to make things easier.”

 

“This is wrong,” Cole shakes his head. “This is wrong and bad, you can’t take death from a person, it’s not right, he deserves to die some day, he deserves death, he deserves that end.”

 

“If anybody _deserves_ immortality, it’s Ewan,” Dorian says tiredly as he finishes adding the last few ingredients to his mixture. “If there’s anybody in the world who would use that time well, it’s him. It’s only a possibility, anyway. It’s as much as possibility as Ewan returning to the world of the living with years of memories lost. That is to say, not much.”

 

“Is this selfish of us?” Varric asks honestly, gazing down at Ewan’s body. He’s thinking hard now on what Cole is saying. Can they really just decide who lives and dies that easily? He tries to think on what Ewan would think is the right thing to do, and all he can think is that he would at least try if it was anybody else.

 

Dorian pauses, looking down at Ewan as well. There’s a steady drip of water from his hair onto his face, and he reaches down to smooth his bangs away from his forehead. He feels tears bubbling up and quickly sniffs, staring up at the ceiling to try and chase them away.

 

“Do you really think Ewan _wanted_ to die?” he challenges, though his tone is soft and shaking. “Or do you think he was simply _willing_ to die if it meant stopping Solas?”

 

Varric’s tone turns a little sharp, “Considering he was willing to throw himself off the battlements for him, it’s hard to say.” He doesn’t meet Dorian’s eyes, and he can tell by the Cole shuffles about that he’s getting uncomfortable. “I don’t know, but I know if it was one of us, he’d be willing to try to save us . . . I just want to make sure we’re doing the right thing, for him.”

 

“Well, we still have to talk to him about it,” Dorian says as he finishes up the paste and starts to roll it into pea-sized balls between his thumb and forefinger. “It will ultimately be up to him. If he refuses us, it _would_ be very selfish of us to force him to come back with us anyway. In almost any other situation I would say that force is necessary, but with this... I don’t think that’s true. With Solas gone, there is no more immediate threat looming in the distance. If he doesn’t want to come back with us... there’s time for somebody to rise up and take his place before the next bi-annual end of the world calamity.”

 

Varric nods grimly, considering the possibility. He considers if he will be able to keep himself in check in the Fade if it goes that route. Varric hopes that his loyalty to Ewan will win over any uncharacteristic outbursts from himself, but this whole thing has him so close to the edge of breaking right now that he feels close to tears for the first time in years.

 

To distract himself from his thoughts, the dwarf lifts his chin to what Dorian is preparing, “So, what’s this stuff going to do? How’s it work?”

 

“You’re probably going to need three of these,” Dorian says, holding up the little balls he’s preparing. “They’ll go under your tongue. You’ll need to squish them and then just leave them there. They will slowly dissolve. Don’t swallow or chew them, or the drug won’t go deep enough into your system. You’ll need to get as deep as you can into the trip before falling asleep. It shouldn’t be difficult, many people who have tried this report feelings of lethargy, peace, and sleepiness. And Dwarves who take it, have reported vivid, lucid dreams. So with the proper trappings in place, you’ll slide right into the Fade with us.”

 

“So no trippy hallucinations or . . . demons from my past?” Varric asks as he takes three of the little balls from Dorian. Carefully he places them under his tongue and does as the mage had instructed, smashing them down against the soft floor of his mouth. The taste is bitter and oddly sweet.

 

“You might if you stayed awake through the trip and fought the tiredness, but the majority of the experience will take place while you’re asleep. You might have some difficulty waking up. Not in a “oh no I’m trapped in the Fade” way, more like, five more minutes mum, please,” Dorian says as he sets aside the bowl and sets to work putting everything else in place.

 

“Alright, so sleep when it takes effect. No problems there,” Varric says, and for the time he watches Dorian work as he’s got nothing better to do. As he does, he tries to think on the mission at hand and how it could go well, actively swatting away the bad thoughts as they crop up. He yawns, but isn’t sure if it’s the psychedelic taking effect or his general lack of sleep.

 

Before he’s even aware of the process, he’s fading into consciousness in the same room he was just in, but all the boxes and crates are gone, and the fireplace is crackling. The doors are open to the balconies, and Ewan’s black formal uniform is laid out over the bed that had been cluttered with books just minutes ago. Ewan is nowhere to be found.

 

Varric is aware that he doesn’t have a physical form. It’s a strange sensation, being a disembodied presence, but even without form he’s tethered to just a few feet above the ground, maybe just a few inches higher than his usual eye level. Dorian and Cole are there with him, only just barely. They are both nearly completely transparent, fighting to make contact with the Fade. Cole seems incredibly nervous, as he and Dorian slowly slide into focus like the page of a book slowly being turned.

 

Moments later they hear the bedroom door open and Ewan walks up the steps, clad in his dragon scale armor, looking weary. It’s strange to see him with two hands again, and he leaves the slightest trail behind him when he moves, like the edges of his body are having trouble keeping up with the rest of him. His legs from the knees down fade into nothingness, floating formlessly a foot and a half off the ground.

 

“Making contact will not be easy,” Dorian says softly to his companions. Ewan starts stripping his armor, unaware of a thing. “This memory in particular has had at least five years to manifest and loop. Breaking the loop will be jarring for him, but the older the memory, the more strength it has, and the easier it will be to bring him back with us. Cole, can you locate helpful spirits?”

 

“I’ll try,” Cole says, and turns to descend the steps, muttering anxiously to himself.

 

Dorian turns back to the general direction of Varric’s formless presence. “Make yourself heard, my friend. Sooner, rather than later, if you please, I’d rather not wait until Ewan is naked.”

 

Varric nods in agreement and turns toward Ewan. It’s odd to float over to him, even stranger when his hand passes straight through the Inquisitor’s forearm. Ewan’s form wavers for a moment as it’s touched, and wisps of smoke like vapor trails where Varric’s hand has traveled.

 

“Ewan . . . can you hear-- of course you can’t. Ewan, I’m here with Dorian. We’ve come to . . . take you back. You’re trapped.” Sadness permeates the room, effects from how he and Dorian are handling the situation. He tries to stifle the feelings. “Ewan, remember that time you and I played Wicked Grace with Cullen? He lost all his clothes.” Varric tries to get his attention with anything but outright admitting that he’s dead, as Dorian had said it might make things worse. “Remember sitting around the fire when we made camp and telling stories? Ewan . . .”

 

The Inquisitor carries on, Varric goes unheeded as Ewan takes a towel and soaks it in a bucket of clean water to wipe down the sweat on his face and neck. Dorian sees a cut on his forearm and in a flash of memory, he gives a bitter chuckle.

 

“I remember the day he got that,” he nods to the cut on Ewan’s arm, crusted with dried blood. “This memory... this must be right when we had come back from the Exalted Plains for the first time. I remember watching Solas and Ewan standing on a massive set of tree roots, when an arrow was coming right for them. Ewan pushed Solas out of the way and the arrow grazed his arm instead of sticking in Solas’ neck. I wonder where we’d be now if his reflexes hadn’t been so quick.”

 

“I’d be relaxing in the Hang Man instead of hanging around here,” Varric quips, but the pun earns him a dissatisfied glower from Dorian, to which the dwarf raises his hands as though disarmed. “I remember that trip to the Exalted Plains-- I’ll never forget the smell of those rotters, but Ewan seemed so happy to be on the Plains-- do you remember, he ran beside the halla? Skipping and jumping as if we were on some kind of leisure mission when we first arrived, he was so thrilled to see them.”

 

Ewan’s head suddenly lifts, and he looks around, like he heard something. For just a few moments, he glances around the room, his eyes scanning right over Varric’s ghostly, near invisible form before he shakes his head and stoops again to unclip the leather straps of his armored boots.

 

“I think he almost heard you,” Dorian encourages, gesturing for him to continue. “Talk more about things you recall about him, positive things. I think that good energy will cut through the fog.”

 

“He was always so inspiring to watch, no matter what he was doing. He could be sleeping and he just exuded this . . . great nobility. I don’t know how else to describe it. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.” Pride emanates from Varric as he thinks on that certain unattainable something that Ewan has about him. “Even though he was this great figure-- the Herald of Andraste-- he kept his head on straight, and that, _that’s_ more admirable than . . .” Varric trails off a moment to gather himself. “I’m proud of you, Ewan.”

 

Ewan looks up again, his brows furrowing. He crosses the room to the staircase leading down to the main hall and pauses at the top. “Varric?” he calls down the stairs. His voice has an eerie, echoey quality. Varric looks over at Dorian, who is wiping tears from his eyes and pointedly looking away. Ewan shakes his head in confusion and crosses the room to his desk again, removing his breastplate and shrugging off his coat.

 

“I was always proud of you, even when you were at your lowest. You were always my hero. People like you and Hawke . . . I know I’ll never be like that. That’s why I write stories about you.” The tears come to him in full force.

 

“You’re like a son to me,” He’s moments from begging Ewan to return to the world of the living, but restrains himself knowing he can’t divulge such information so soon, in case he is heard. “I love you, everyone loves you--you lead us through the worst times I’ve ever seen, you made me believe I could be a better person.”

 

Ewan is looking through him now, squinting at the open air. He looks around the room again, reaching for his temple, as though his head has started to hurt. Dorian knows that’s the memory being forced to manifest, and just as Cole ascends the steps with a few wispy spirits in tow, Ewan’s expression lifts and he looks directly at Varric.

 

“I thought I heard your voice,” he says, and strips his overshirt off his ghostly body, where he drapes it on the desk and it disappears into smokey wisps. “I thought you were having drinks with Bull tonight?”

 

Dorian whispers to Cole, who nods, and leads the spirits unseen around Ewan in a protective circle. The shadows in the corners of the room seem somehow darker now, as the ghostly and skeletal forms of the manifestations coil their positive energy around Ewan in a barrier.

 

“He’s still trapped in the memory loop,” Dorian says quietly from outside the barrier. “Try to ease him out of it. We don’t want to shock him.”

 

“Did you hear something?” Ewan looks around the room. Dorian feels a jolt in his chest at being heard by Ewan, but he doesn’t assert himself just yet.

 

“I decided to stay behind and make sure you were okay,” Varric says, attempting to keep Ewan in the loop for now, and he clears away the last lingering glimmer of ghostly tears. “You looked tired.”

 

“I’m exhausted,” Ewan laughs. It’s good just to see him moving around, upright, speaking again. He stretches his arms over his head and rolls his shoulders with a sigh. “I’m looking forward to a good night’s sleep, but at the same time I’m not. I know how sore I feel right now is nothing compared to how I’ll feel when I wake up.”

 

He pauses and looks at Varric, his smile dropping. “You look... what’s wrong? You look upset.”

 

“Yeah, I’m alright, just tired myself,” Varric says, and it’s only half a lie. He’s emotionally exhausted and feeling like he won’t make it back to Thedas in this state. He’ll just sleep right through eternity or until some poor sod finds him in the storage room and decides he’s dead. “Do you want to come out for drinks with me and Bull? Dorian might be up shortly, I saw him in the hall.”

 

“I’m much too tired for drinking tonight,” Ewan shakes his head. “Thank you, though. You have fun tonight. Solas and I are just going to have a quiet night in. He’s going to come up soon and we’re going to read together for a while.”

 

Dorian assumes that Cole and Varric feel the same soul-deep ache at Ewan’s words. Dorian wants to scream for Ewan to run, run far away from Solas, but it would do no good. This is only an echo, after all, a distant memory that can’t alter history. What Dorian would give to actually travel back in time and give Ewan a warning, give them all a warning of just who Solas was. He would willingly die if he could spare Ewan the last seven years of grief.

 

“Dorian,” Cole whispers. He gestures to the balconies with his chin. Dark forces are starting to cloud the windows and blot out the sky. Keeping so many positive spirits in one place is a barbed protection, it attracts as much trouble as it blocks in a place like this.

 

Dorian clears his throat and steps forward, interjecting himself in the loop. Ewan doesn’t seem at all surprised by his sudden appearance.

 

“Sorry to rush things along, but our time might be limited,” Dorian says. “And we’ve no idea how long this loop will go before starting over. We don’t want to risk it starting over or we’ll be forced to start over as well.”

 

“Start... over?” Ewan repeats, looking between the two of them.

 

“It’s not too late to leave,” Cole suddenly steps forward. Ewan is startled by his appearance. “You can run, Ewan. You don’t need to do this.”

 

“What’s going on?” Ewan says nervously, taking a step back as the windows start to creak with the force of the demons bearing down on them from the outside.

 

“You have a choice Ewan,” Varric says the words, though his voice is shaking. “You can come back with us, or stay here.”

 

“You don’t have to come with us,” Cole continues, and Varric finds himself wanting to shout at Cole again. “You could stay here and be safe.”

 

“Come back with-- what are you talking about?” Ewan shakes his head. They can see his form is starting to go a little firmer around the edges as he comes out of the loop, his feet are slowly starting to appear. The windows are creaking louder, and Ewan looks around him at the colorful barrier, seeing it for the first time, as well as the demons pressing in on the glass beyond it. “What’s going on here?”

 

“Ewan,” Dorian reaches out and is pleased to find that he’s actually able to hold Ewan’s arm like a solid thing. “I wish I didn’t have to rush this. At the very least if you could follow us some place less vulnerable and open, we could talk.”

 

“Talk about what?” Ewan leans back from Dorian’s grip, but doesn’t actively try to break away.

 

“You have to put your faith in us.” Varric says, stepping forward and offering out his hand for Ewan to take. “Trust me, if nothing else. You have to come away with us so we can talk someplace safe.”

 

“I don’t like this,” Ewan is almost completely solid now. He’s shaking his head, looking at the trio with a deeply confused and concerned expression.

 

“They’re here,” Cole whispers.

 

There’s a split second of utter silence, followed by the screeching crash of all the windows exploding inward. Ewan shouts in fear, the barrier lighting up around them in a bright beam of protection, as demons pour in through the windows.

 

“Run!” Dorian shouts, and the barrier moves with them as they rush down the stairs. The door is flung open not to the usual set of walkways that would take them down to the main hall, but rather to the open battlements of Skyhold. The sky is sunless and cloudless, a dark swatch of muddy grey, the courtyard filled with trailing spirits of those who died at Skyhold of injuries from the attack on Haven.

 

“What is this?!” Ewan shouts in horror.

 

“He’s almost completely out of it now, he’s manifesting stronger by the second,” Dorian gasps as he looks around for an avenue of escape. The door has closed and vanished behind them, leaving them out in the open. He can see clouds of demons advancing from either side of them, spilling up the stairs to their right, making that avenue impossible for escape.“The spell must be reaching its peak out in waking world.”

 

“Spell? Waking world?” Ewan gasps, and finally jerks his arm out of Dorian’s grip. “Is this the Fade?”

 

“Very astute, but we must run!” Dorian takes him by the hand again and Varric takes him by the other as they leap directly off the side of the battlements, and the rushing forces of demons crash into one another in the spot they’d just left behind.

 

They land sprawled in the courtyard, unharmed. They help Ewan onto his feet, the gleaming light of the peaceful spirits only makes the black mass of demons seem darker and bigger. Varric and Dorian lead Ewan by the hand, their legs pumping toward escape. The darkness creeps behind them, seeming to seethe and writhe as it crawls along the wall of the castle, trailing their movements.

 

Dorian manages to close them in the barn, where Blackwall once made his camp, and with a wave of his hand every door and window slams shut.

 

“That should buy us a few moments of peace,” he says, remarkably not out of breath despite running as far as they just did. The Fade could be remarkable like that.

 

“We’re in the Fade? How did we get back here?” Ewan asks breathlessly, crippled by the illusion of his lungs. “I don’t... I don’t remember. Did we come back for Stroud? Why are we in Skyhold?”

 

“Ewan,” Dorian takes the Inquisitor by the hand, and he looks over at Varric, nodding for him to give the news.

 

Varric steps forward and looks into Ewan’s eyes, they each search the other’s gaze for a moment while Varric tries to piece together how best to spin the story.

 

“There was a battle and you took a spear through the heart. We tried to heal you, but it was too late by the time the wound healed, you were just gone.”

 

Ewan takes a stumbling, frantic step back, shaking his head in horror. “What? No, I’m-- what? You can’t be serious-- is this a demon trick?” he searches frantically behind him and grabs an errant sword, thrusting it out at his three friends. “You’re demons! Get back!”

 

“We’re not demons-- not that saying that would actually convince you.” Varric quips, realizing the stupidity behind his own plea. “We’re not demons. We’re you’re friends. You have to trust us, or else the real demons are going to come knocking.”

 

“I’m not dead!” Ewan says defensively. “I feel fine! I feel--” he looks down at himself and pauses, the hand holding the sword outstretched droops slightly as he notices his transparency for the first time.

 

“He’s becoming self aware,” Dorian says. “That means the spell is working.”

 

“Spell?” Ewan snaps back to attention, panting heavily, more out of reflex and fear than anything, and he raises the sword again, in both hands this time, keeping them back at a distance. The boards of the barn around them begin to rattle and bang together. “You’re using blood magic on me?!”

 

“It’s not blood magic,” Dorian insists, lifting his hands as though he will catch the sword between them should it swing down to chop him in two. “It’s Fade magic.”

 

“It’s true. You are dead,” Cole mumbles, seemingly more to himself than to the frightened Inquisitor.

 

Varric reaches up for his arm and gently brings the sword down until the ghostly tip is pointed to the floor. “Ewan, you have to trust me. You’re dead, but we can bring you back. Dorian can bring you back.”

 

“No time!” Dorian shouts as the doors burst open. Hands are grabbed, the sword abandoned on the grass, as they tear up the stairs and burst into the main hall of Skyhold. Dorian whips them through the halls as fast as their ghostly feet can move and they slam the door to the war room behind them just in time to see the wave of demons behind them advancing through Joesephine’s office. They bolt it and press up against it until the dull thud of the demons hitting the other side of the door shakes them all for a moment, followed by the eerie, conglomerate wail of their fury.

 

“I’m dead?” Ewan whirls around on them, his voice pitched high and nervous.

 

“You don’t have to come back with us,” Cole says, pushing past the other two to take Ewan by the arms. “It is bad that you died, worse _how_ you died, but you can stay dead, you don’t have to come back with us. Sometimes it is better to do nothing at all.”

 

“There’s a very real chance that you could be possessed on your way out--or back in, I guess. You could also a chance that this could make it impossible for you to die ever again--the choice is up to you, but it needs to be made and fast.” Varric hurries to say the words as the door jerks and the collective sound of claws on the wood screeches eerily through the room.

 

“What?” Ewan repeats, feeling his heart race. Or rather, he feels the echo of what a racing heart feels like. He still can’t fathom being dead, he feels so solid and whole right now, he feels alive, despite his transparency and inability to explain any of this. “Immortal? You’re joking.”

 

“You can stay,” Cole says again, desperately. “You do not want to never die. That would be a very bad thing. Solas--”

 

Dorian actually hits Cole, slaps him across the arm. Cole shrinks back like he’d just been set on fire, whimpering and gripping his arm.

 

“Solas?” Ewan looks between the group, his eyes darting to the darkening windows as the demons press in on them. They don’t have much time. “What about Solas?”

 

“Damnit, we don’t have time for this.” Varric spits, glaring over at Cole. His patience for the young man has run out, but Dorian had spoken for both of them with his physical force. “You died fighting Solas,” Varric says, and Dorian makes a disapproving noise, looking as though he might slap Varric as well. “You killed yourself, he was trying to use you as a justification for his plans-- his plans to destroy our world. We can explain it all to you when you wake up, but you have to trust us. Now.”

 

Ewan opens his mouth in shock. The last thing he can remember of Solas is kissing him in front of the door to the bath room where he’d gone to bathe after their long trip to the Exalted Plains. Trying to absorb this information leaves his head spinning in circles, unable to speak, mouth gaping open still as he struggles to find words.

 

The windows shatter. The spirits around them flare up and bright, warding off the demons, but even they can only spare them a few moments.

 

“I’ll take that as consent!” Dorian lunges forward as demons pour into the room, and he yanks a crystal on a chain out of his tunic, grabs Ewan by the back of the neck, and presses it into his throat like a blade. 


	8. Chapter 8

Varric jolts awake first, bolting upright, gasping for breath. A demon had closed its spiny, shadowed hands around his throat just a split second before he awoke, and he claws at his neck to pry the fingers that he can still feel off-- but it’s a fading sensation. Cole is beside him, wrapped up in the fetal position, still sleeping.

 

To his other side, Dorian is laying side by side with Ewan, so close their arms are touching, with a crystal on a long chain draped around both their necks. Varric doesn’t even remember seeing Dorian lay down, the drug must have hit him faster than he realized.

 

He has just enough time to notice that almost time seemed to have passed at all when Cole is jolting awake with a whimper, and the cobwebs in Varric’s head start to seep back in around the edges, the lasting effects of the drug. Dorian and Ewan remain still, lying side by side, looking like a pair of lovers who’d committed suicide together.

 

Cole gets to his knees and looks Dorian and Ewan over, his hands coming up to his face as he starts to rock back and forth out of anxiousness. Varric blinks as he watches him for a space and shakes his head, trying to clear his head of the last few remnants of the drug. The dizziness doesn’t leave him, but it’s the last of his worries now.

 

“Should we wake them?” Varric asks, uncertain if Cole even knows.

 

“They’re trapped,” Cole moans, sounding close to tears. “Dead.”

 

“Have some hope.” Varric says tiredly, scrubbing his face with one hand.

 

Dorian gasps awake after a few seconds of tense silence, sitting upright until the chain stops him and chokes him. He collapses back down with a curse, coughing and struggling with the crystal. He slips out of the chain and sits up, rubbing at his neck and panting. He looks down at Ewan, who remains lying still, the crystal sitting on his chest now.

 

“How did you leave so early?” he looks at the two of them, his voice hoarse. “We were in there for hours without you.”

 

“The drugs must have worn off for me, I’m not sure about Cole.” Varric looks across at the young man who is still rocking slightly. His gaze drops to Ewan, eyebrows knitting together worriedly. “What happened?”

 

Dorian glances back down at Ewan, swallowing hard. “He was right behind me,” he says, reaching to take Ewan’s hand. It’s still freezing to the touch.

 

The room is bathed in silence for several seconds. Dorian sighs and hangs his head. He should have known better than to be so confident. Fate likes to punish the optimistic, he’s found. He doesn’t know how he’s going to return and face everyone with the news that he’s failed. Ewan’s entire inner circle is right now barely hanging on to hope, clinging to the idea that Dorian might have been able to save him. Telling them all that he failed will be torture.

 

Just as he moves to take his cloak and wrap it back over Ewan, the elf sputters to life, gasping and choking through lungs that had started to settle. Dorian jerks to attention and stoops down, pinching Ewan’s nose and helping him breathe with his mouth until his breathing settles into more steady hyperventilating at least.

 

“Fire, help him to the fire!” Dorian hefts the shivering and unresponsive Inquisitor up by his shoulders. “He’s as cold as death, quite literally!”

 

Varric lifts Ewan by the feet while Dorian takes him by the shoulders and they slip him onto the cloak. Quickly they carry him over to the fire, the flames instantly begin to warm his cold limbs. The Inquisitor’s fingers twitch to life, and his chest rises and falls with his labored breath. The dwarf fans the fire with his coat, the air urging the flames higher and hotter until it’s almost hard to be beside the flames without getting too hot.

 

Cole tentatively walks over to where the three of them are, wearing an expression of horror as he watches Ewan breathe for the first time in days. Varric rubs Ewan’s arms, trying to coax as much warmth into his skin as he possibly can.

 

“You...” Cole whispers. Dorian looks up, and sees his eyes focused right on him, burning with an expression he’d never seen on the young man’s face before. “You!”

 

“Me?” Dorian gasps out, sounding tired and a little offended. “What _about_ me?”

 

Cole lunges, and knocks Dorian to the ground, straddling his waist. Dorian catches his fist before it hits his face, but forgets to account for the second and it splits his lip.

 

“You didn’t ask permission!” Cole yowls. Ewan is looking dazedly at the scene like he’s only just barely seeing it. “You just took him! He didn’t say yes!”

 

“Cole, get off of him now!” Varric shouts, his voice authoritative as it booms out across the room. When Cole responds with another, albeit blocked, punch, the dwarf gets up and strides over in a couple of steps. He hooks his arms into Cole’s armpits and with an almighty tug, pulls him off of Dorian and leaves him in a crumpled heap on the floor.

 

Ewan is leaned so close to the fire it has to be dangerous, and Varric yanks him back by the cloak wrapped around his body to keep him from falling face-first into the fireplace.

 

“For your _information_ , Cole, I had hours to speak with him before we returned,” Dorian spits blood on the stone floor. “I told you time moves strangely in the Fade. I told him everything.”

 

Cole’s eyes follow Varric’s back to Ewan, who has wrapped himself up in the fetal position, hugging his knees with his face pressed down into the cave they made. He’s still violently shivering, his heart panicking as it tries to pump frigid blood that has been stagnant for days through a stiff and freezing body.

 

Slowly, Cole crawls over to Ewan and wraps the cloak a little bit tighter around his shoulders. He leans in and whispers something in Ewan’s ear, so close his nose is pressed right up against his temple. Ewan whimpers and clutches his legs tighter.

 

The four of them sit in the quiet room, just absorbing reality for what it is for the time being. Ewan is likely still suffering some disorientation as his body attempts to readjust to a living state. Dorian nurses his swollen lip, Varric is still trying to clear the fog from his mind.

 

“What do you remember?” Varric finally asks, Ewan looks up dreamily, as though he hasn’t heard for a moment. The dwarf repeats himself.

 

“Everything,” Ewan whispers in a dry croak.

 

Dorian fetches a pitcher of water he’d gathered for his spell and fills a mug with what remains of it, carrying it back to Ewan. He drinks deeply of it, but coughs and splutters after several swallows and has to set it down as his body rapidly readjusts to several things at once.

 

“Can’t shake the cold,” he creaks, rocking slightly.

 

Varric gets up and walks to Ewan’s side, shrugging out of the coat he’d only half-donned, he drapes it over his shoulders to warm him a bit more, then takes a seat beside him. He wraps an arm around him, trying impart as much heat as he can. “Just give it time.”

 

“I feel cold down to my soul,” Ewan croaks, shaking his head and wringing his hands together.

 

“People aren’t meant to come back from the dead,” Cole says quietly.

 

“I’ve had just about enough out of you,” Dorian growls, whirling on Cole, who ducks behind a stack of crates.

 

“Whatever we did it worked . . . and there’s no taking it back now.” Varric says, honestly just about done himself with Cole’s doom and gloom. He sighs and moves closer to Ewan, their hips touching now.

 

Ewan simply sits and rocks himself for quite some time. Cole slips out of the room and down the stairs, and neither Dorian nor Varric make a move to stop him. Ewan cries tearlessly for a while, and then passes out on Varric’s shoulder for a few minutes, and then wakes up again only to resume rocking. Dorian suffers with a great measure of guilt as Ewan struggles for the next hour to re-acclimate to being alive.

 

When he finally feels the refreshing sensation of being too warm, Ewan unsteadily begins to move. Both Varric and Dorian rush to assist him, but he waves them both off and uses a crate to stand. His limbs are stiff and achy, but moving is helping. His back makes a few unholy cracking sounds as he stands to his full height.

 

“What now?” he asks, his voice still cracking in his throat. He doesn’t look at either of his companions.

 

“When you’re ready, we travel back to the Winter Palace and get Cassandra’s story before we talk to anyone, if she’s fed anyone any information. Otherwise you just break the news on the . . . success of the mission. If you can call it that,” Varric mutters the last words, thinking of Solas’ regeneration. He glances at the door, wondering where Cole has gotten off to.

 

“So it’s true, then?” Ewan looks up at Varric from staring at his feet. They feel foreign. His entire body feels foreign. He sincerely hopes that will wear off. “Solas really is still alive? He’s an infant now?”

 

“More like, he’s a puppy from hell now.” Varric comments, chuckling a bit at the thought of the wolf cub that Cole had pulled out of the ruins of Solas’ body. “They took him back to the Winter Palace and are probably trying to figure out a way to hold him right now, since the bastard can’t be killed, apparently.”

 

“If he’s just a baby now, perhaps we can raise him again with new morals,” Ewan says hopefully.

 

“We?” Dorian scoffs.

 

Ewan takes pause, his brows furrowing. “Why not we?”

 

“Pardon my insistence, but I don’t think any of us are going to let you go anywhere near him,” Dorian says calmly as he starts to collect his things.

 

“Why not?” Ewan says, his throat going tight.

 

Dorian looks up. “You’re joking, right?”

 

“It’s not a good idea for you to be close to him.” Varric says, getting up from his position on the floor and shrugging his jacket back on. “You won’t have your head on right around him . . . it’s for the best.”

 

“He’s a puppy,” Ewan says, sounding offended. “What do you mean, won’t have my head on right? What exactly do you take me for?”

 

“Ewan,” Dorian says firmly. “One thing at a time, alright? Let’s make sure you’re all in one piece, get you something to eat, a change of clothes, and we need to return to the Winter Palace. Cassandra is holding down the fort, claiming success of our mission, but questions have likely already started to compound over your subsequent absence.”

 

Ewan frowns deeply, but the sound of a meal and warm clothes is welcome. He leans sideways on a stack of crates, rubbing at his frozen arms, where his clothes are wet, for some reason. He’s damp from head to toe, and the chill is bone-deep. He’s beginning to wonder if he’ll ever feel lasting warmth again.

 

“Are you going to stop me from even seeing him?” he asks quietly, eyes downcast as Dorian steps over a few boxes to rifle through and search for clothing that might fit the elf.

 

Varric looks away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat and letting his head hang back onto his shoulders as he glances up at the tall ceiling. He sighs a curse and recovers after a brief moment and finally finds it in himself to look at the Inquisitor again.

 

“For the time being, it’s probably best if you two don’t see each other. He’s not good for you.” What a hypocrite, Varric thinks to himself and he feels secretly sick. “Look what happened the last time you were together.”

 

“The last time we were together he was a demigod bent on destroying the world, now he’s a wolf cub,” Ewan says defensively. “What do you think he’ll do, teethe me to death?”

 

“That’s in poor taste, don’t you think?” Dorian says, carrying a robe back over to Ewan that will at least keep him warm. Ewan takes it from him with no thanks and shrugs it on over his wet clothes.

 

“As far as we know he’s still a demigod bent on destroying the world, he just doesn’t have the means to articulate it-- yet,” Varric says, his voice strained. He turns away from Ewan to face the fire.

 

”You really should take those wet things off before you put that on.” Dorian scolds gently.

 

“It doesn’t matter if he still wants to, if he’s harmless,” Ewan continues to argue as he strips his wet shirt off from underneath the robe.

 

“There’s no use in arguing about it now,” Dorian says, taking Ewan’s wet overshirt. “We aren’t your entire council. We aren’t even the whole group who brought you here, but Cole has run off. I doubt he’ll be coming back. We have to return to the Winter Palace to speak with the rest of your Circle to discuss judgment on Solas.”

 

Ewan looks down at his feet silently, his thoughts racing. Would Solas recognize him still? Would he remember him? Would he be glad to see him alive? The most frightening question of all, if he becomes a man again, would Ewan still love him? He’s already killed himself for Solas once, would he do it again? Or would he go with him, if presented with the choice for a second time? He would like to think no, but there is only so much heartbreak one man can bear.

 

“We’re just leaving Cole? We’re not even going to look for him?” Varric asks, looking over his shoulder at Dorian, wearing an angry scowl. He’s just as angry at the young man for what he’d done in the Fade, but the idea of leaving him behind doesn’t sit well with the dwarf. He looks to Ewan for a response as well, but he seems to be lost in thought or otherwise terribly interested in his feet.

 

“You may look for him and catch up with us if you like, but what do you think the chances are of him rejoining us at this juncture?” Dorian says crossly. “He’s probably long gone by now. He’ll either show up back at the Winter Palace, or he won’t. Frankly I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t come back at all, after that stunt he pulled.”

 

“He can’t take care of himself,” Varric insists angrily, frustrated by his companions collective lack of interest in helping him find Cole. He looks at them both again, waiting, but Dorian doesn’t seem to want to say any more on the matter and Ewan is frustratingly silent. So the dwarf shakes his head and he leaves the room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him. They know he’s angry, there’s no need to emphasize the fact.

 

On his way down the stairs all he can think of is Ewan and how foolish he is. If he had just stopped to think about everything else, they might never have been in this mess. If he could have just seen how evil and conniving Solas was from the beginning, or at least when he’d left, maybe he wouldn’t have killed himself and Cole would still be around. They’d all be happier if he could have just stifled how he’d felt about Solas.

 

Near the end of the stairs, Varric stops and closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He immediately regrets thinking any of it. None of this is Ewan’s fault. The dwarf knows more than anybody how love can warp one’s sense of things. It isn’t as easy as just letting go, and he tells himself he needs to remember that. His anger had just gotten the better of him, and right now, he needs to have his best head on to look for Cole. There’s no telling where he’s gone, and looking for him won’t be easy.

 

He realizes then that it’s a futile task. Cole can make himself invisible to everyone, he can make people forget that he’s been seen. Asking the people of Skyhold will be pointless, and Dorian is right, he’s likely gone too far to track, and Varric is no ranger. Begrudgingly, the dwarf sighs and turns around. It’s time to head back up and tell Dorian he’s right. At least he’s had a moment to himself to think.

 

As he ascends the stairs, the sound of sobbing slowly grows louder, and when he reaches the top, he finds Ewan crumpled against Dorian’s chest, clinging to him, shaking with the force of his muffled crying, leaning his full weight against the other man. Dorian is supporting him with one arm, petting his hair with the other, and he glances up to make eye contact with Varric. He slowly shakes his head and gestures back in the direction of the door with his chin.

 

Varric freezes for a moment, he catches Dorian’s look and nods. As gently as he can, he closes the door behind him and stands on the stairs, looking down at his feet as he listens to Ewan sobbing. Now he’s feeling sick at the pit of his stomach for ever having such angry thoughts about Ewan. The struggles he’s been through, Varric can’t even begin to imagine.

 

Ewan and Dorian descend the stairs a few minutes later. Ewan is draped in a cloak, the hood pulled up over his head. Dorian explains that the people of Skyhold will be confused if they leave with the Inquisitor despite not arriving with him, so Ewan allows him to tie a loose knot around his neck, to be led like a dog. He would have offered his arms, except that it would be too easy to recognize his missing hand. Dorian sends Varric out with some coin to find food for the three of them, and they meet in the throne room.

 

Ewan is led back through Skyhold, head bowed and hidden beneath a hood, looking like a prisoner. Official Inquisition business, Dorian had said, and he weaves a story about locating a traitor for the Inquisitor. Whispers are started, but nobody tries to stop them as Dorian leads him back across the bridge, while Varric pulls the cart.

 

As soon as they’re out of range of Skyhold, Dorian removes the rope and instructs Ewan to sit. He protests, claiming he would rather walk, but he doesn’t have much fight in him to refuse for long, and eventually he sits without a fuss.

 

The days seem to drag on the way back to the Winter Palace. No one is up for conversation. Even Varric, who might normally be telling stories to pass the time, is starkly quiet compared to other ventures. He spends most of his time in thought, trying to figure out just what they’re all going to do with themselves when they get back.

 

Ewan sometimes bursts into tears, and after the third time of being ignored when they’d asked him if he was alright, his two companions have stopped inquiring after him when he begins to sob. When they make camp, Varric plays solitaire with the deck he keeps on himself, Dorian seems to double check that he has everything every chance he can get, and Ewan spends him time curled up in the cart with his back to the others.

 

When the Winter Palace is within sight, Varric is the first to say anything. “Do we just walk in there with the Inquisitor, or do we need to hide him again?”

 

“I think we can just walk in with him,” Dorian says as they leave the cart by the front gates. Ewan lowers his hood and stands up, carrying as much dignity with him as he can muster as he enters the palace accompanied by Varric and Dorian.

 

Dorian is immediately hounded by Josephine, who has news of Tevinter’s outrage when they heard about one of their Magisters up and vanishing with a rogue dwarf in the Inquistitor’s company. He sighs and agrees to answer correspondences with her, shooting Ewan an apologetic look.

 

But Ewan isn’t alone for long. His Circle weaves out of the woodwork at the news of the Inquisitor’s return, and he’s cautiously approached by tearful friends and gentle hugs, as though they’re frightened they might kill him again if they handle him too roughly. He apologizes for the fear he’d caused, but he can’t muster much emotion in his voice. Even being swarmed by loved ones, he feels chilled to the core.

 

Nobody is surprised that he asks about Solas first.

 

“He’s being kept in a cage, under careful watch for the time being,” Vivienne says evenly.

 

“A cage,” Ewan repeats bitterly. “Have you been feeding him? Giving him water? Is he warm?”

 

“He’s a demigod, not a puppy,” Cassandra says firmly. “We have no means to put him on trial currently, so he is simply under observation.”

 

Ewan hangs his head, wringing the edge of his cloak. “I want to see him,” he says firmly.

 

“Absolutely not,” Cassandra says, an angry edge to her voice. “Considering recent events, it is best if you are not in the same room as him. There is no telling what might happen. We do not know the limits of his powers in this form.”

 

“She’s right,” Varric says, stepping up beside Cassandra. “What if something happens to you again?”

 

“They’re both right.” Vivienne states matter of factly. “There are too many variables to consider. It’s best if you broke contact.”

 

“I don’t want to,” Ewan says desperately, even though he knows how it must sound. He curses softly, rubs his hand through his hair. “I just... I just want to see him. I want to say good bye. Please, I... I never got a good bye.”

 

Varric softens, Cassandra is a different story. Before her lover can say a word, she interjects: “No. It is too dangerous. You must understand, this is for your own safety. We do not know what he is capable of.”

 

Ewan feels tears roll down his cheeks, and he wipes at them messily. He takes a step back, shaking. He hasn’t said out loud that the main reason he’d agreed to go with Dorian when he’d been explaining everything in the Fade was because of his desire to see Solas again. His chest feels tight and his throat is closing up, and he can’t meet the eyes of any of his followers.

 

Never in his career as Inquisitor has he felt so tired. He takes another step back. “Right,” he says quietly. “Okay. I think... I’m done. I apologize, everyone. I quit.”

 

He turns, cloak billowing out behind him as he turns and walks back in the direction they’d came. His circle stands where they are, startled into stillness as he walks back towards the front door of the Winter Palace with his head bowed.

 

The Circle all turn to one another, wondering silently to themselves and to each other if they’ve heard right.

 

“He’s just . . . upset,” Bull offers uselessly.

 

Varric scoffs, “He’s been upset for years and he didn’t quit then. Maybe we’re being too hard on him. Everyone is telling him what he can and can’t do.”

 

“Talk to him. Make him see reason,” Cassandra says, turning to Varric.

 

“Why?” Varric says defensively. “He’s done enough, let him have his rest.”

 

“How can you say that?” Cassandra yells at him, her voice cracking. “He is--”

 

“He is _tired,_ ” Varric says, walking past her and toward the door. “Talk to him yourself.”

 

Ewan has stopped just in front of the gates leading away from the Winter Palace. His kneejerk decision has caught up with him, and has made him take pause, but he isn’t even sure he wants to go back. The Inquisition is officially over now. With Solas out of the way, under lock and key, there is officially no major threat to world peace or safety that needs the Inquisition’s hand.

 

Suddenly Ewan is filled with the terrible thought that he wishes he would have let Solas succeed. Maybe everyone wouldn’t have died immediately, maybe things would just be terrible again and the Inquisition would be relevant once more. He could have spent the rest of his entire life as the Inquisitor, perhaps had a child who carried on the title, and so on. Or, if Dorian is right, and he’s immortal, he would have had centuries to spend fighting the battles of the new world and striving to protect the people who have survived.

 

He knows it’s wrong. And he doesn’t really want it. But the daydream, grisly as it is, seems better than reality. Reality is crushing down on him now, the fact that with the Inquisition gone, he’s nothing. A one-handed archer elf with no goals for the future. The tears are back again, hot and scalding as he hears foot steps approaching. He knows it’s Varric before he even opens his mouth.

 

“Why did I come back?” he asks, wearily, before Varric can say a thing. His shoulders tremble and his knees threaten to buckle.

 

“I don’t know,” He answers lamely, stepping up beside Ewan and stands a moment, speechless. “Before we went in to get you, I asked if it was selfish--I wondered if you were happy in the Fade. I guess that’s why I got so mad at Cole . . .” He trails off for a while as Ewan stands sniffling in the quiet.

 

Ewan wipes at his tears. “What if Dorian is right, and I can’t die? What if I’m stuck here now, forever? I only... I only said yes because I wanted to see him again. I wanted to see him and prove to myself that I would walk away. I wanted to see him and tell him no one last time. I’m a fool. I shouldn’t have said yes, I don’t know where I’m going to go from here. I don’t have any dreams or goals or ideas or plans. I said yes for Solas, I’m such a fucking idiot--”

 

He leans forward against the gate, gripping the ornate metal and resting his head against the cool metal. His knees buckle and he puts his full weight on the filigree.

 

“We’re all idiots,” Varric says, trying to comfort Ewan, and if not comfort him, make him feel a little less stupid. “Love makes idiots of everyone. Believe me. I spent fifteen years pining after a woman who could never love me back. You’re here now, though, and it isn’t too late to return to the Inquisition. There are still people all over Thedas who are struggling. You could be a paragon of hope for people, like you always have been. There’s still a lot to do, you just have to find it.”

 

“I’m a nobody by myself,” Ewan wipes his tears again, but they keep falling. “The Inquisition will scatter again, and this time they’ll have no reason to come back. Solving little crisis all over the world doesn’t warrant getting everyone together. I... I’m afraid of going back to having no power. I like being influential, I like making change, I like being heard. I don’t want to lose that.”

 

“Why can’t you make change on a smaller scale? Isn’t that just as important?” Varric asks, thinking of all of the people he’s helped back in Kirkwall and all of the people that Ewan has helped over the years. “Remember when you found that ring for that widow? You went through all that trouble, and you never got big fanfare for it. You just accepted that you’d done something worthwhile. You can still have that and be important. The whole world already knows who you are.”

 

Ewan sniffs and looks out through the gate. The Inquisition is over, and he’s never going to see Solas again. Unless he’s immortal after all (a possibility which he’s not quite sure he’s willing to test yet) in which case his Circle can only keep him from Solas for so long before he can find a way to him. He probably shouldn’t be thinking like that. He shakes his head to clear the thoughts.

 

Maybe Varric is right. He doesn’t need to be somebody important to make change. He’ll certainly miss the fanfare, it’s very gratifying, even the negative attention feels good sometimes. But he knows that it’s not necessary, and he shouldn’t let it go to his head. He has to remind himself of the reason they founded the Inquisition in the first place: to help people.

 

He sighs and stands upright, wiping his tears one last time. No fresh ones fall. “I can’t go back inside,” he says resolutely. “I already said I quit. I couldn’t take the shame of crawling back. And I don’t think I could take being in the same building as Solas if I can’t see him. I’m going to go back to the Inquisition headquarters and figure out where to go from there. Dorian and I still have that crystal, so you can use that to get in touch with me while he’s still here. Tell him I’m sorry I left without saying good bye.”

 

“I’ll give him your regards, and I’ll try to keep in touch. Just . . . take care of yourself. For your sake, blast everyone else. Do what makes you happy, find something and just throw yourself into it.”

 

They say their goodbyes. Varric hugs Ewan around the waist, he holds Varric for a moment before they part ways. The dwarf is left standing at the gates, trying to muster up the energy he needs to go back to Dorian and give him Ewan’s goodbye. He just wants to go back to Kirkwall and be with Grace, but there’s still more to be done. There’s so much more to be done. 


	9. Epilogue

Unsurprising to anybody, the Inquisition is officially disbanded, seven years after its conception. It fizzles out without much ado about it. It goes out quietly, spreading out thinner until it vanishes completely. Uprooting an organization he’d spent the better part of a decade strengthening leaves Ewan more drained than he’s ever been before. He parts ways from his Circle on their last day together with a bitter, unhappy goodbye.

 

He is hardly heard from for almost a full year.

 

News of his reach spreads all over Thedas and finds its way to his old companions. Ewan’s name isn’t always attached to the deeds they catch wind of, but his friends know how to spot his handiwork when they hear of it.

 

It wasn’t until eleven months had passed that they saw him again. They saw him only because Dorian had pleaded for him to attend the dinner Josephine had planned to reunite the old team for a few days and discuss what they’d been up to for the past year. He’d almost refused, but when Dorian got Varric in on the begging, the man caved.

 

His hair was longer and his face more sunken in. He carried himself with a new dignity that seemed to befit him. Nobody was surprised to find him still dressed in all white. He barely ate, that night, but after an hour of drinking they at least got him to loosen up enough to smile.

 

Cassandra has Grace on her lap, but halfway through the meal she gets squirmy enough to be rewarded with her own seat. Cassandra informs Ewan that she’s officially gathered enough Seekers to really start doing some good with them again. She sits a little taller when he says he’s proud of her.

 

Sera nearly didn’t show, and when she did, she brought four friends. Ewan welcomed them in, even though the cook Josephine hired balked at the new guests. Ewan didn’t even scold them when they stuffed their pockets with apples and cheese. Sera tells them how she and Dagna have started to raise dogs together, and distracts them with a magic trick while her friends nick some silverware.

 

Dorian makes proud declarations of all the laws he’s gotten passed (which isn’t many, but is impressive nevertheless) and updates his friends on the status of repealing slavery. It’s been slow going, the least he’s managed to do is find other reasons to shut down slave ports, take the slaves into the custody of the Imperium, and release them himself. Privately, Ewan thinks how pleased Solas would be. Everyone else is thinking it, too.

 

Blackwall shares news of the Wardens he’s been traveling with, and what they’ve been up to. He tells a story of a particularly successful operation where they took a large company into the Deep Roads and closed off permanently, three separate tunnels which darkspawn had been wandering out of. Ewan seems distracted by this point, responding only in nods or hums, rather than questions or even with direct eye contact. Blackwall makes a note to speak with him privately later.

 

Bull is happy to tell several grisly stories which dampen the appetites of many of them, tales of dragons slain and bandits raided, stories which seem to excite him more than is strictly appropriate for a dinner table. He tells Ewan how Krem has found a wife and a donor, and has a baby on the way, which is why he didn’t attend the dinner alongside Bull. Ewan is pleased for him, though quietly. He sends his regards for Krem and his child’s health and happiness.

 

Cullen is modest, as ever, about his accomplishments of the last year. Restoring the Templar Order to be stronger and better than ever is nothing to sniff at, of course. Losing their leader had been enough to rattle them from the ground up, and nobody was going to argue when the commander of the Inquisition’s armies and an ex-Templar himself stepped in to fill the gap. He continued with his refusal to take Lyrium, and set up new safety measures to assist those other Templars who wished to quit usage, or even leave the Order entirely. He quickly became the most revered Templar Commander they’d had in decades, some even claim centuries. Varric is the only one who notices how he seems to be hanging on Ewan’s every word of quiet praise.

 

Josephine is happy to share how far the spread of her family’s new merchant ships has reached. She tells of how far they’ve traveled and even reads one of the letters she’s received from a cousin who sailed all the way to Roshara. She thanks Ewan endlessly for his part in helping her family rise back to splendor, but he’s barely listening. The longer his friends talk, the more deeply he seems to retreat into himself.

 

Varric talks at length about the great strides he’s made as viscount of Kirkwall. There are less homeless in the city thanks to the work he’s been doing with the Chantry to get people off of the streets. More people are moving up in Kirkwall, he reports that the businesses are booming once again, which is good for the Merchant’s Guild. More than that, though, he announces that he and Cassandra are engaged. There is a round of congratulatory applause from the table, Bull whistles loudly and Cassandra looks away from everyone. Varric’s heart sinks when Ewan doesn’t give much of a response, but looks pointedly at his untouched food.

 

Vivienne details how work with her Circle has been going, how far its reach has spread. She is in the process of building her own school to rival the College of Magi, centered in Orlais of all places. She asks for Ewan’s public blessing when the time comes to open it, and he agrees without even considering. What is there to consider? She is a great friend.

 

Nobody is surprised when Ewan asks about Solas. Frankly, they’re surprised that he waited so long.

 

“His name is Armand now, my dear,” Vivienne answers, her tone polite, but stiff. “He’s being raised by my Circle. He’s plenty safe, never you fear.”

 

Ewan doesn’t react much outwardly. He frowns and looks down at his food again (which he has still scarcely touched) but inside, he’s seething. It’s unworthy of anybody to force Solas into the life of a circle mage. He’d rather not start arguments at this nice meal that Josephine has set up, so he remains silent on the matter for the time being, but he’ll be having words with Vivienne later.

 

It’s at that point that they notice Cole isn’t there, and never arrived at any point in the evening. Varric is worried, but Sera lets him know that she’s still in contact with him.

 

When the meal has adjourned and the old party is milling about, Cullen manages to find his way over to Ewan with intent to have a serious conversation with him about the future and his feelings for the man, but he dissolves into stuttering apologies within seconds and leaves his side to find somewhere to lick his wounds.

 

Varric had been bouncing Grace on his knee, something she’s getting too big for, when he’d noticed Cullen’s attempt. He watches from afar, hoping that Cullen will have the nerve to go through, but it’s quickly apparent that he hasn’t and he slinks away. Varric picks up Grace, who protests, and he carries her over to her mother, who absently takes her by the hand as she talks with Bull. Grace sticks her tongue out at her retreating father’s back, who turns just in time to return the gesture.

 

He follows Cullen at a distance. He finally stops in the garden and takes a seat, presumably he hasn’t heard Varric behind him yet. The dwarf steps into view and sighs, “You really made an idiot out of yourself back there.” He says with a chuckle, which only creates a pained expression on Cullen’s face. “You’re a really attractive guy, why are you so nervous?”

 

“I’m-- what?” Cullen clears his throat and sits up a little taller. “I only just-- we were talking. The Inquis- I mean, Ewan- he’s just in a sour mood, I think. It makes sense, he hasn’t been well. Hasn’t been well in a long time. You know him better than anyone, do you... do you think he’s going to be okay?”

 

“He’s still not over Solas.” Varric says grimly, looking out over the garden. He drops his gaze to his feet for a moment as he thinks. “After all the crap that happened, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never okay again. That kind of shit has an impact on people. He needs people to talk to right now, people who can _get_ him to talk.”

 

Cullen rubs at the back of his neck. “I... figured he wasn’t over him,” he mutters, trying his best to sound casual. “He really, ah. He really loved him,” he clears his throat again. “It goes without saying that he wouldn’t be over him. I wish he would, though. You know, for his sake. He seems so sad all the time.”

 

“It’s not a healthy way of life, that’s for sure. He needs someone who can fill that space. It’s a big spot to fill, but someone he trusts could help take his mind off of Solas,” Varric all but hits Cullen over the head, trying to encourage him. “ _Someone_ just needs to man up.”

 

Cullen feels his ears heat up. “Yes, someone,” he says hastily, looking in the other direction. “I think I should be going. I have- er- there’s something I need to attend to.” He stands up and quickly walks back through the gardens before he loses his nerve.

 

A week later, Varric hears the news that Cullen and Ewan have officially entered a relationship. Or, re-entered, as the case is, though that’s news to Varric. He grills Ewan for not telling him that he and Curly had a fling a couple years back, and give them his blessing.

 

Over the next few months, Ewan’s mood improves greatly. His Circle sees more of him, and more importantly, they see more smiles out of him. He asks about Solas less and less. Mistakenly, they think this means he’s thinking about Solas less, but that isn’t the case. Ewan has learned not to bring him up, it only ever makes his friends uncomfortable, and it makes Cullen sad. Cullen is so good to him, even though Ewan consistently fails to give him what he deserves. The least he can do is stop mentioning Solas.

 

Salvation from his months of aimless wandering and do-gooding comes in the form of a new threat popping up. The Venatori have apparently rallied their severed forces again for a phase two attack. They’re not much of a threat given their size compared to the magnitude of what Ewan and his allies have faced in the past, but left unchecked they’re a severe enough threat to really warrant a regroup.

 

Watching everyone don their old armor has him feeling warm and content, and being embraced from behind by Cullen adds a certain layer of pleasure to the nostalgic experience.

 

They’re getting ready to head out when Varric takes Ewan aside. He’s tying his scarf around his neck as he looks up at the Inquisitor, who is actually smiling for a change. It’s something Varric knows he could get used to, seeing Ewan smile again.

 

“Hard to believe we’re still doing this,” Varric says, looking over everyone as they prepare themselves. He finishes tying his scarf and he pats Ewan lightly on the arm. “It’s good to see you happy again.”

 

Ewan looks out at his group and then turns to gaze across the open forest, where they’re about to plunge into just like old times, when everything was simpler, when good and evil were more clearly defined. The world is much more complicated than he ever realized, but his group of friends are the exact people he needs to help him navigate through the greyscale he’d once called black and white.

 

“I am,” he says quietly, tentatively. “Happy, I mean. It’s been a while. I’m... I’m going to be okay, I think.”

 

“You’re going to be okay. I _know_.” Varric says, speaking more than he really can on the subject, but he sounds so confident that even he believes it.

 

As he looks out across the faces of his friends, the faces of the people who have gotten him through everything, who have saved him from death both literally and figuratively, who have supported him through all his major decisions in life even if they don’t agree with him just because _they love him_ , and he thinks that maybe, for once, optimism suits Varric.

 

For once, he thinks he’s going to be okay. 


End file.
